Release
by Lexton
Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts for 7th year. In the aftermath of the war, she feels herself being eaten away by the horror of her memories. She needs to find a way to feel alive again. She needs release. And she knows someone who can help.. But will he?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello all! Welcome to my Hermione and Snape fanfic. I know there's about ten million out there already (actually, 3,743 at last search), but I thought I'd clog up the internet with my own variation on what might have been…_

_In my HP universe, none of the events of the Deathly Hallows or previous books have changed, except that Snape survived. As always, I own nothing except the computer this was written on. All else is the property of the wonderful and Nobel-prize-worthy JK Rowling._

CHAPTER ONE

Looking out into the rain, Hermione drew her cardigan closer to her body as the Hogwarts Express rocked gently on the tracks. Her eyes searched for something familiar in the fields outside, but she found nothing looked that same as it had two years ago. Rolling green meadows that once seemed to breathe energy and life now seemed empty and forgotten. The trees were dark and wild, thrashing in the gentle wind that buffeted the train every so often. Hermione wondered if it were her imagination, or if nature itself had really been tainted by the war.

"Hungry?" A voice beside her asked.

Hermione turned to look at the red-headed witch beside her, who was half-raised off the seat as she delved into the pockets of her jeans. Ginny watched her with brows raised questioningly.

With a lopsided smile, Hermione shook her head. "No, thanks. I've already eaten."

"Suit yourself," Ginny said, getting up to leave the compartment, which was mercifully empty of other students. "If you change your mind, send me a text." And then, grinning, the girl wandered out into the corridor.

The smile dropped from her face as soon as she was alone, but Hermione couldn't help but be amused by Ginny's obsession with her phone. It wouldn't work the second they reached the grounds of Hogwarts, but this piece of Muggle technology was a gift rarely afforded to a Weasley, and it had Ginny in raptures. Her father happened across it months ago, and had spent a lot of time asking Hermione how it worked. Though usually happy to talk with Mr. Weasley about Muggle artifacts, she found that she lacked the patience to talk about anything at length with anyone any more. Not even with Ron or Harry, both of whom were suffering in their own way since the end of the war.

Sighing, she looked out the window again, not seeing anything in particular. Her mind jumped to the last time she had seen Ron, over a month ago. As always, he was subdued and unresponsive, no matter how she tried to coax him out of his self-imposed shell of depression. Fred's death had hit him hard, almost more than any of the other Weasley children. She wasn't sure what had caused his sudden lack of interest in the world, but these days the most she could get from was a half-hearted smile as she recounted tales from their first year at Hogwarts. Simplier, easier times that back then seemed so impossible. But none of them were the same anymore, not really. The war had changed everything, and everyone. It had certainly changed how she felt about Ron.

For the first few months after the battle at Hogwarts, and after all the funerals were over with, they had tried to rekindle their former flame to no avail. Even sex, which only a year ago seemed like such an exciting adventure, soon became depressing. No matter what they did, their love-making had always ended the same way: with Ron crying softly into his pillow as she lay beside him, hating him for his weakness and at the same time envying him that he felt anything at all. Most of the time, she felt as empty as the meadow. Hermione hoped that would change when she returned to Hogwarts.

When she told Harry and Ron almost two months ago that she planned to finish her seventh year, they assumed it was because the old Hermione was back, and that she needed to study, to learn and to put as much of herself into her education as she could. She let them think that. Why she was really returning comprised of too many things, but mostly she wanted to find something that made her feel _alive _again, of some way to find a release for the painful memories that ate away at her soul. Learning had always done that in the past, and she hoped it would again before she became a black hole. That, and she really needed to get away from Ron before she lost all affection for him completely. It was easy to remember times when he had been sweet and goofy, with that unconventional charm that made her fantasise about her future life with him, but it was much easier to remember those times when he wasn't around. And since her parents remained in Australia, she had nowhere to live but with her boyfriend's parents. The problem with that was that her boyfriend lived there, too. And she'd had to get away.

The compartment door slid open, startling her from her reverie.

"I'm back," Ginny announced as she flopped onto her seat, hands laden with all kinds of candies.

"You and half the trolley," Hermione said, grinning at the food.

"I know, it's a bit much. But honestly, when will I have this much sugar again?"

"Next Hogsmeade trip, I would guess."

"And who knows when that will be," Ginny murmured to herself, unwrapping a chocolate frog. "I wonder if I should send the card back to Ron. He still collects them, you know."

Hermione snorted, though not amused. "Yes, I know. All stacked together, they're the closest thing his room has to a book."

"Well, we can't all love the written word as much as you. I think I will keep them. I don't think he has Flagius the Flatulent."

Hermione looked back out the window while Ginny chattered on about who else was on the train and what they'd been doing since the war ended. The school had been closed a full year for repairs, and apparently the teenage witches and wizards went on quite the spree in their time off. Not wanting to offend her, Hermione smiled at Ginny and listened to her talk, though she didn't particularly care about what anyone else did.

To be honest, she didn't particularly care about anything anymore.

_A bit short, I know, but it's just an intro chapter. Please review if you liked it, or even if you didn't! All comments are appreciated, unless they're on something completely unrelated, like cheese. Please don't comment about cheese._


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

It was Hogwarts as Hermione remembered it, and yet she didn't recognise it at all. The repairs to the main hall were impeccable, each stone looked exactly the same as it had before. The roof of the Great Hall showed a cloudy day, although on occasion a hint of blue would peak between the grey. The food was delicious, she argued with new students about the possibility of re-forming S.P.E.W, and she was even given the same bed in the same dormitory as she'd had since fifth year. And still there was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she was there in the castle and yet not really there at all. The first night in her bed next to Ginny's brought a disturbing question: is this how it felt to make a horcrux, and to be separate from your soul?

She didn't sleep much that night, and even when she did, she was plagued by the usual nightmares. Bellatrix Lestrange screamed at her in Malfoy Manor; Hagrid carried Harry's body across the castle grounds; Snape lay dying in her arms in the Shrieking Shack. She woke abruptly with her sheets tangled around her limbs, her bushy hair damp with sweat and her heart racing. The room was still dark, and she knew none of the girls were awake. It was probably an hour or two before sunrise. She needed to be alone.

With slow, quiet movements, Hermione made her way down to the common room, determined not to wake anyone. The fire was still roaring, and so she settled herself in the squishy chair in front of it. This had always been Harry's seat, when the three of them stayed up late finishing essays, or waiting for Sirius to call. She looked into the fire now, almost expecting to see the handsome face of Harry's godfather looking back at her. All her memories felt so fresh here.

She settled back in the chair, crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Tilting her head against the seat, she began her morning ritual.

"It's not real. It's not happening. It already happened. Bellatrix is in Azkaban, she can't hurt you. Harry isn't dead, he was pretending. Professor Snape isn't dead, I saved his life…"

Hermione continued her chant until her heartbeat returned to normal, and then opened her eyes to look around the room, hoping no one had come in. Seeing the room was empty she checked the fireplace again, almost out of habit, and sighed.

"And now a new one. Sirius _is_ dead. Bellatrix killed him. Don't look for him in the fire."

Repeating this softly to herself, it was a long time before she moved from the chair. Birds began to sing outside the castle walls, and sunlight crept across the floor. She could hear people moving in the dorms above her, and decided it was time to get ready for her first day of classes. Hopefully, it was the beginning of a life without nightmares.

By the time Hermione left the table in the Great Hall with Ginny an hour later, she was relieved to find that she was in high spirits. As always, in the back of her mind was a black shadow of fear that threatened to take over her body if she lingered on a bad memory, but seeing her timetable had significantly lessened the chance that she would. First thing on a Monday morning, double potions.

In another lifetime, she wouldn't have been so glad to go down to the chilly dungeons and subject herself to an hour of Professor Snape's disapproving glare, though she rarely earned it. But she hadn't seen him since that night in the Shrieking Shack, when Harry and Ron took off for the castle and she remained by her teacher's side, listening with growing terror as his breathing became irregular and shallow. She had done her best to stop the flow of blood from his wounds, but it was the venom she couldn't help. All she could do was send out a patronous and hope it found the right person, at the right time. She thanked God nearly every day that it had.

"Damn," Ginny cursed, looking over her own timetable. "Double potions with Snape. Just my luck. Why he came back to teaching, I have no idea."

"I've got double potions, too," Hermione said with a grin. "And you know Snape isn't that bad. He saved our lives. And Harry's."

"Why are people always telling me that?" Ginny asked incredulously, falling into step beside Hermione as they headed for the dungeons. "Yes, he's a hero, but that doesn't mean he's not a git."

"We'll see." Hermione nervously straightened her tie and glanced down to ensure her shirt was tucked in. What would he say to her when he saw her? "Maybe he's changed."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Ginny laughed. "And by the way, I will be copying everything you do in this class. If I can be as perfect a student as you, hopefully he'll leave me alone."

Hermione laughed, and said, "If you're anything like your brother, you'll need to."

They stopped behind the line of seventh years outside the potions classroom, and Ginny gave her a sidelong glance. "That depends. Which brother?"

The two of them giggled quietly as a hush came over the students. Hermione craned her head, trying to see if Snape had come out. She had no idea why she was so nervous, but every inch of her skin tingled with goosebumps. She'd saved his life. He'd ignored her existence for a year. Surely he was grateful?

"Come in," a silky voice said from within the dungeon.

Hermione's heart leapt to her throat as she shuffled in behind the others, completely ignoring Ginny's heavy sigh.

The dungeons were as dark and cold as ever, devoid of any colour or good-feeling. It worried her how at home she felt in here, where so many students had lived through the worst of their academic careers. The apprehension in the air was tangible as each student crawled onto a stool, murmuring to each other and themselves. Hermione made her way to the front of the classroom, where Harry and Ron had never let her sit. Ginny groaned softly behind her, and for a brief moment Hermione felt a little guilty that she may be subjecting her friend to an hour of hell. Finally, she looked up to the desk at the end of the room, where a dark-clad figure stood silently watching them all. Her breath caught in her throat.

Professor Snape looked down at them all with his unique mix of disgust, contempt and indifference, his upper lip curling slightly at the sight of his students. His curtain of dark hair seemed slightly longer so that it sat upon his shoulders instead of above them, but that was the only difference. His eyes were as dark as ever, his skin as pale and his voice as soft. Without knowing why, Hermione listened to his slow, measured words intently, captivated by the sound of his voice.

"First," he drawled, "You must remember, that no matter how disappointed you are that I am alive and teaching again, it cannot compare to my own disappointed that my weeks will start with a double class of dunderheads."

No one spoke a word. Hermione was sure she would hear a pin drop in the silence of the room, if only her attention wasn't completely taken by the man in front of her. A man who had yet to look at her.

"Also, while in this room there will be no talk of the war, anyone who was involved in the war, or our favourite celebrity, Mr. Potter, who seems to have decided not to return to the school this year. No doubt, he would not have managed to complete his N.E.. Just as most of you will not."

He reached behind him for a sheet of parchment and held it loosely in front of him.

"When I say your name, say 'present'. I trust this will not be too difficult."

He began to read alphabetically, surname first through the class, which Hermione realised was comprised of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students. As he neared her name, her stomach tightened nervously.

"Granger, Hermione."

"Present, sir," she said breathlessly, waiting for him to look at her. But he didn't. He kept on reading the names, finishing with Ginny. Nor did he look at her for the rest of the lesson on the complex Veritaserum potion, avoiding her table completely even when she held her hand high in the air.

Halfway through the hour, Ginny nudged her in the ribs. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it. He hasn't mentioned my red hair once. It must be some kind of record."

Rather than make her laugh, Ginny's comment made Hermione uncomfortable. For the last five minutes of the lesson, she worked in silence on her potion, wondering why he wouldn't look at her, and worse, why she cared so much. It wasn't like her to mope if a teacher ignored her, rare as that was. Had she really changed so much as to need constant approval?

When the bell finally rang, Snape told them he expected a two foot essay on the properties of the ingredients of Veritaserum and why they made the potion work. And he said no more. He turned back to his desk and didn't turn around until the last of them had left. Hermione knew this because she took her time in packing up so she would be the last to leave. Ginny stood impatiently by the door, waiting for her.

"Come on, Hermione. Free period."

She glanced back once more to see if he was looking at her, but she saw only his back. Together with Ginny, Hermione left the classroom feeling oddly rejected, even though nothing had happened. The dark shadow in her mind was threatening to take over her again, and she felt the familiar emptiness begin to creep over her heart. She needed a way to release the shadow. She needed it now.

At the entrance to the common room, she stopped and grabbed Ginny's arm.

"Hey, Gin, I'm just going to the library to start Snape's essay. I'll catch up with you in Transfiguration."

"Seriously?" Ginny asked, eyebrows shooting up. "We just got it, and we don't have to hand it in until Wednesday."

"I know, but you know me," Hermione smiled, forcing it probably more than was necessary. "I can't wait to start."

Her friend shook her head wonderingly, and turned to the portrait of the fat lady. "You confuse me, Hermione. I have no idea what goes on in your head some times."

Watching her disappear into the common room, Hermione stood there a moment longer, her thoughts heavier than they had been in weeks. "So do I."

Hours later, after she skipped dinner complaining of a stomach ache, Hermione sat on the edge of her bed staring out the small window, watching the world outside take on an orange tinge as the sun set. The shadow had won out, after all, when she couldn't stop herself from worrying over everything – her parents, Ron, Harry and of course, Professor Snape's complete indifference to her. Her body felt empty of all feeling, as though she were a wraith, as lifeless and see-through as Nearly-Headless Nick. This is what happened when the shadow won, because she couldn't find a way to release the bad energies of her mind. It was happening more and more as time went by, and she didn't know how to stop it. If only she had someone to talk to, who might understand what was happening to her…

Unbidden, her mind leapt to her potions master, and she realised why she had felt so dejected at the end of his class. Only the two of them, together, were there in the Shrieking Shack that night, when she tried desperately to keep his heart beating. It was a common link, a memory the two of them shared, a connection. He would understand the nightmares that plagued her. He had to.

Of the three memories that sent her every night into darkness, only the memory of Harry's supposed murder was shared with another: Ron. And he was in no position to comfort her or help her heal from that memory. He could barely get himself out of bed.

The memory of Bellatrix's torture was hers and hers alone. No one was there beside her as the pain lanced through her limbs and into her soul, shredding her more effectively than the Sectumsempra curse. That was a burden she had to carry alone, and to fix on her own.

But the Shrieking Shack… Professor Snape had been there. Hell, he was the reason she woke in a cold sweat, crying out his name as he died again and again in her arms. And he seemed perfectly functional, which was more than Ron could say. Had she finally found someone to confide in? To _truly_ confide in? It was a start, and captivated her mind entirely as new thoughts so easily did these days. By the time Ginny came up to bed, Hermione was fast asleep, already locked in Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix and her punishing magic.

_Crucio!_

_A/N: Woo! Chapter two down..._

_I realise it's a little wordy at this point, and that there is far more prose than dialogue. Just bear with me until the initial intro stuff is out of the way. The pace will start to pick up soon, I promise _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Tiny sidenote, in the previous chapter, when Snape is talking about Harry, he's meant to say N.E.W.T's, not N.E. Not entirely sure what happened there..._

_The more I write of this, the more I realise it's going to head into fairly OOC territories. But then again, what about Snape and Hermione together is in character? Consider yourselves warned for OOC possibilities :P_

CHAPTER THREE

The next few weeks passed in the most unlikely way. Hermione spent most of her potions classes, not trying to impress her teacher or out-do every other student, but trying to make friends with the notoriously cruel Professor Snape.

She tried everything possible. Starting with simple questions like how he was, if he was happy to be back at the school, and congratulating him on his newly-received Order of Merlin. And yet every time she got the same answer:

"If you have time to annoy me, Miss Granger, you have time to focus on your work."

He would then turn away from her and spend the rest of the class avoiding her desk, which Ginny thought was brilliant. In the first month she was there, he looked her in the eyes exactly once, and that was the first time she spoke to him. Her heart had spluttered in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't exactly sure why that happened, but she figured her reaction was an indication that Snape could give her the help she needed. After all, her ability to feel started to come back just in his passing glance. It had to be a good sign.

As time wore on, she started to wonder if she ought to dive into the questions she really wanted to ask, so he would either be forced to answer or forced to give her detention, which would guarantee her time alone with him. But she could never bring herself to ask if he was glad to see her back, or if he, too, had nightmares of the war. It wasn't for lack of curiosity or fear to ask that stopped her; it was because she didn't want Ginny to overhear that she was still having the nightmares. Good friend that Ginny was, she couldn't understand what Hermione was going through. Trying to explain the desolate state of her soul would be like trying to explain the laws of transfiguration to a monkey.

But as October rolled around and she had yet to get more than a snarled response from her professor, Hermione found herself sinking into the pit of numbness she'd been trying desperately to avoid. Now, on top of her thoughts and nightmares, she had the added knowledge that Snape wanted nothing to do with her. It ate away at her mind just as everything else did, and made her feel emptier than ever. And so she turned to books.

Books, once her means for escape, had to provide some kind of release for her thoughts. The library used to be the one place she could go where no-one, and nothing, could follow her. Not even the things that used to plague her – arguments with Ron and issues of low self-esteem – could find her in the library, in her bubble of concentration and learning. It was in the library that she found herself at the end of a particularly bad week. Her nightmares were becoming more vivid, to the point that she would wake and not know where she was, and be sure that everyone she loved was dead. Thankfully, Ginny was a heavy sleeper and didn't notice that her friend woke drenched in sweat, with her covers either on the floor or twisted around her body.

But, for the first time in her life, books offered no comfort. She wasn't getting lost in the pages of _Maggie Burtstrom's Guide to Advanced_ _Charms, _and she soon found herself restless, anxiety growing with every second she sat staring at the book as though it were a rock. Her mind couldn't settle on anything, though she jumped between worry for her parents and fear for Ron. The dark shadow threatened to consume her, and so she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and all but fled the library, earning a disapproving glance from Madam Pince when she sprinted out the door.

All through the castle she ran, barely avoiding knocking a first-year to the ground, until she reached the doors of the castle. There, she heard someone calling her name.

"Hermione!" Ginny called, waving at her from the Great Hall.

Hermione stared at her friend, breathing hard, torn between deciding whether to run into the Forbidden Forest or to stay and talk to her friend, lying through her teeth about the state of her mind. In the time it took her to think it over, the redhead was by her side, looping her arm through Hermione's.

"Come on," the girl said, tugging firmly on Hermione's arm. "We're going for a walk."

Almost with relief, Hermione sighed heavily and smiled. "I could use a walk."

"I don't doubt it."

Ginny pulled her out onto the grounds, steering them both towards the lake with all the force of a hurricane. In the chilly autumn air, Hermione felt herself shivering and wishing for a jar to make bluebell flames. She briefly considered conjuring a flask like the one she'd made in the Shrieking Chack, but that brought on a fresh torrent of panic. She had flashes of Snape lying, bleeding and dying, as Harry extracted his memories. Just remembering the sound of his laboured breathing had her doubled over, clutching her heart and gulping in air.

Ginny stopped in her tracks, and wound her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "It's okay, Hermione. You're safe. We're alive, we're at Hogwarts. Harry is okay. Ron is okay. We're all just fine."

"And Professor Snape?" Hermione gasped, her vision blurring. Terror coursed through her veins, icy and sharp, freezing her in place.

She heard the split second of hesitation before Ginny spoke again. "He's fine, too, Hermione. You've seen him for weeks. He's perfectly fine."

"He's fine…. He's fine…" She panted. Before too long, she felt herself being slowly guided to the ground, where she began shivering violently at the combination of cold earth and fear.

"Oh, Hermione," her friend whispered, wrapping her thin arms around Hermione's shoulders as she knelt beside her. They stayed like this for a long time, until Hermione's shivers were reduced to a tremble, her heart rate lowered to a steady, strong beat. Like she'd just learned something exciting, rather than remembered something terrifying. They'd only made it halfway to the lake, and no doubt anyone looking out of the castle windows would wonder why they were sitting in the middle of nowhere, holding each other.

"I'm okay now," Hermione mumbled. "You can let go of me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

With a huff, Ginny leaned back to rest her butt on her heels, looking at Hermione with a mixture of concern and wariness. "What was that about?"

Hermione shrugged, but saw no reason to lie. "Sometimes I still have panic attacks. If I remember something awful."

"Yeah, I remember you've had attacks before. But about Snape?"

"Why not about him?" She raised weary eyes to the redhead, suddenly exhausted. "I watched him die, Ginny. Of course I'll have bad memories of it."

"I guess." Ginny watched Hermione carefully for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "How are you, Hermione? I mean _really_, how are you?"

Again, she shrugged, but this time because she didn't know how to answer. Was it really wise to tell your best girlfriend that you felt empty inside, and saw no reason to go on with life when she couldn't even feel herself living? "I dunno. How are you, Ginny? You've lost a brother."

"I'm coping," the girl admitted. "But sometimes it feels like I might break down. It's those times when I'm glad I have Harry, and you, and Mum and Dad, and my brothers. I wouldn't get through if it weren't for you all."

The two of them were silent for a moment, each thinking about something completely different from the other. Ginny was obviously mulling over her sadness at Fred's death, but there were still real emotions behind her eyes. Hermione sat there wondering when they could go inside, because she was cold.

"But Hermione, you don't even have your parents," Ginny went on softly, awoken from her reverie. "A girl needs her parents when things go wrong. Isn't there a way you can get them back?"

"No," she answered, staring out toward the lake. "The _obliviate_ charm is absolute. You know that. Once a memory is taken, you can't put it back. They'll never remember me. It's better that I just don't worry about them."

"Can you really do that?"

_No, _Hermione thought. But she didn't say it. No need to burden Ginny with even more worries. At least none of Hermione's family hadn't died. She supposed that was something to be grateful for. Why then, was it so hard to feel thankful?

When she didn't answer, Ginny went on, prodding her further. "And what about Snape?"

Hermione jerked her head back, locking her eyes onto her friends. "What about him?"

"Can you talk to him?"

She sighed, and hesitated before answering. Her fingers reached down to pluck a blade of grass, which she then rolled between her fingers.

"I've tried, Gin. I really have. But he can barely look at me, let alone talk about that night. And I really need to."

Her friend nodded emphatically, eyes wide with agreement. "Yeah, you really do. How else will you stop thinking about him?"

"Well, I'm not thinking about him," she retorted, feeling her face flush. Frowning, she raised her hand to her cheeks, noticing the tell-tale signs of embarrassment. How long had it been since she cared what someone thought of her? Too long.

She relished in the feeling of hot cheeks. "I just want to talk to him. I think it would really help."

"I think it's a good idea, and you shouldn't give up," Ginny smiled, obviously thinking she'd gotten to the bottom of Hermione's problems. "Professor Snape needs to know what you did for him. He hasn't even said thank you yet, has he?"

"No. He hasn't."

"Smarmy git."

Hermione returned the smile, but didn't feel it. Clearing up the issues of what happened that night wasn't good enough for her. She needed to know if he understood her pain, he, who had withstood almost more than anyone else during the war. A flash of sorrow pierced her heart, and for the second time that day she remembered briefly what it was like to feel. And it couldn't be a coincidence that it was Professor Snape she thought of when it happened. It was more evidence than she needed – he could help her to feel again.

"You know," she said brightly, fixing a grin on her lovely face. "I think you're right. I shouldn't give up on him. He will listen to me, or I'll turn him into a toad."

"There's the Hermione I know! You're not you unless you're bossing someone around."

How good it felt to be back.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey y'all, thanks for sticking with it so far. I know it's pretty darn angsty, but I promise, life starts picking up for Hermione soon. On a completely unrelated sidenote, it's not too long a wait until Hermione and Snape have their first … ah-hem… night together …. :D Well… maybe the two events are related. I lied._

_Also, a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed or added this story to their alerts. It makes me feel loved. Please, keep telling me your thoughts! All feedback is appreciated._

_Enjoy!_

CHAPTER FOUR

That night, Hermione woke to the sound of her own screams.

"_Professor_!" She shrieked, startling herself awake. Her body launched itself into a sitting position, without her fully being aware what was happening. "Where am I?" She demanded of no one in particular.

"Hermione," Ginny said softly from the next bed. "You had another nightmare. But it's okay. You're at Hogwarts, and Professor Snape is fine."

Was it a nightmare? It didn't feel like a nightmare. Even now, she could still smell the coppery tang of pooled blood, see the light of life leaving her professors eyes. He couldn't have survived that, even if her patronous had reached a healer. Hermione put her head between her knees, breathing hard and clutching her skull.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "It felt so real."

"I'm sure it did." The curtains around her bed parted, and Ginny came in to sit beside her. "That's why it's a nightmare."

"Ginny, I don't know what to do anymore," she nearly sobbed. Every fibre of her being felt ripped in two, shredded, and drowned. How much of her soul was left, when all of her memories were so evil? "I can't keep going like this."

"You're going to talk to Snape. Remember? We talked about this today."

"Yes, I remember." Hermione bit her lip, thinking hard. "I have to talk to him. I need to see him. Now."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, incredulous. "Right now?"

Hermione nodded, de-tangling herself from her sheets and clamouring to the edge of her bed. "Right now."

"But, it's after hours," her friend argued, following her out the dorm, where several of the other girls peeked out from their curtains, obviously enthralled by the scene before them. "Can't it wait till morning?"

The two of them raced down the staircase, one after the other, both in their nightgowns. They burst into the common room, where Hermione whirled to face her pursuer.

"Unless the clock lies, it _is_ morning," she retorted, pointing at the far wall.

"Hermione, please, be reasonable," Ginny whined, hugging herself against the cold.

To her surprise, Hermione laughed, the sound coming out short and clipped. "I am well past reason."

And with that, she all but dove out of the hole in the wall, startling the Fat Lady from her drunken sleep.

"What in the name of-" She began.

But Hermione was gone, running with steady steps down the corridors of her beloved school nightgown streaming behind her, all thoughts of dignity and logic gone. No one stopped her. She saw no one. Not Filch, or Peeves, or even Mrs Norris. The school was empty, giving her the opportunity to reach the dungeons uninterrupted. Hermione skidded to a halt in front of the dungeon door, her face flushed with the excitement of the run, and hair even wilder and bushier than ever. It stuck out from her head at an alarming angle, adding to the already wild look in her eyes.

She would find release for these damned memories, and she would find it now.

Bold and dangerous, she knocked on the door.  
>With a loud creak, the door opened inward, revealing an empty space where there should have been a person. She dropped her hand quickly and looked around for whoever had opened the door. She found no-one.<br>"Miss Granger?" A voice asked.  
>Hermione looked up to the front of the classroom, where Professor Snape stood with his hands clasped behind his back. In the eerie cold of the room, the only light came from torches high in their brackets on the walls. The firelight played across his features, making him seem all the more distant, and mysterious. His face was emotionless, except for the usual gentle sneer of contempt. It didn't bother her, not any more. Hermione had the feeling his expression was now stuck that way, after years of teaching hateful students.<p>

All strength left her limbs, the fire of her courage quickly blown out under his gaze.  
>"You're still up, sir," she noted quietly, stepping through the doorway. It was like stepping into a cold box of silence. But it was also like stepping into a room of complete peace. In here, she felt lighter, less burdened by her memories and thoughts. Briefly, she wondered why that was.<br>"When a student approaches the dungeons without my permission, be sure, Miss Granger, that I will always know about it," Snape said, his voice, as ever, a malicious drawl. "And I am sure that there is nothing short of an emergency for you to be wandering the castle at night, or else the consequences will be… unpleasant."  
>She ignored his not-so-subtle threat, knowing it would be nothing more than a detention. It was downright stupid of him to think that a detention would scare her anymore, after what she had lived through.<br>Glancing at the floor, the crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling the cold. But she didn't fight it. Feeling the cold was better than feeling nothing at all.  
>"I had to see you," she blurted suddenly, quickly wincing at her own brashness. She hadn't mean to say it like that.<br>Snape just looked at her, dark eyes unfathomable. In that long moment, she could have sworn his gaze flicked her to chest, and she remebered that she wasn't wearing a bra. She raised her arms to cover her breasts, trying to pass the movement off as a way to keep warm. Finally, he spoke.

"My office hours are as they have always been, Miss Granger. Non-existent. Whatever game you're playing here will not end well for you or anyone else involved. Go back to your dormitory before I take 100 points from Gryffindor."  
>She didn't move. Once again, he'd threatened her with something that once would have made her heart race and have terror shooting through her veins. But she was different now, so different it startled her. It startled her even more when she kept talking.<br>"I had a nightmare, Professor."  
>Snape stared at her incredulously, and she congratulated herself on inciting an emotion in him. "I am not your nanny, Granger," he growled. "Must I remove you myself? What will it take for you to end this torture?"<br>Involuntarily, she gasped and shut her eyes tight, holding herself in her arms. The ceiling of Malfoy Manor flashed through her mind, the smell of her own blood clogged her senses. It took all her strength to keep from screaming. After a minute, she looked up at her professor, breathing heavily, eyes wide, not fully understanding what just happened.  
>To her surprise, he was much closer than he had been before, and his face was contorted with some unknown feeling. His lips were in a thin line, brows brought together in a frown, his whole body tense. Any other day, she would have guessed he was mad. But something in his eyes…<br>"You are not well, Miss Granger." He sounded so matter-of-fact, it didn't match at all with the look on his handsome features.  
>"No, sir," she agreed, trembling all over. It finally registered that he had used the word 'torture', and set off another panic attack.<br>Snape begin to move away from her again, and she felt her heart begin to race. _No, don't leave me. Not again. _His eyes left her face again.  
>"Can I assume you dream of the war?"<br>She nodded, once, suddenly feeling very small. "Yes, sir."  
>He sat behind his desk with his hands in his lap, and when he looked up at her again, his face was emotionless as ever.<br>"Miss Granger, it is expected that anyone who endured what you did would suffer for some time after the fact," he began. "But that does not give you permission to wake me in the middle of the night like a child looking for a cup of milk. If you have need of someone to talk to, I am sure your friends, or Head of House, or anyone else in this castle other than myself would be the best choice. Better yet, see Madam Pomfrey to secure a Sleeping Draught. In no way are your troubles mine."  
>Hermione felt herself rooted to the spot, furious and dejected all at once. Of course, Snape would always encourage students to avoid him at all costs, but after what the two of them had been through together? Was he really that cruel?<br>"You _selfish_ arse," she snarled, "Do you really think I care about how uncomfortable it makes you to talk to me? Or to any other person? You can threaten me all you like with detentions and a black mark on my record, but it won't change the fact that I still wake up every night with the image of you dying scratched onto the back of my eyelids. I _am_ suffering, professor, and you don't seem to care that you're the cause. You won't even look at me in class! I saved your life! How can you be so ungrateful?"  
>A long silence followed the end of her rant, and she knew all too well that she had crossed the line. She had mentioned that he was indebted to her. Snape was never indebted to anyone, least of all a Muggle-born know-it-all like herself. He gave her a deadly stare, and rose slowly from his seat.<br>"Granger."  
>Oh yes, he was mad. But she wouldn't back down. If anything, she was glad she said what she said. At least it got a reaction from him, which was more than she'd been hoping for since he'd been ignoring her for weeks.<br>"The day that I am grateful you returned me to this life will be the day that I finally die." He rested his hands on the desk, and looked at her with black eyes of fury. "Now get out, before I do something we'll both regret."  
>Hermione shuddered, and spun on her heels to flee the dungeon and his powerful gaze. It wasn't that she was scared of him, or of what he'd do. If anything, it was because she didn't know how she felt about him that terrified her enough to run away. All the way back to her dorm his voice echoed in her head, and every time, a shudder ran through her.<br>… _before I do something we'll both regret _… 


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hello all, sorry for the delay in updates. I've been away on a road trip, but I felt guiltier every day for not posting this chapter! It's another short one, but thankfully it also means the end of introductory chapters. I think we've asserted Hermione's soulless feelings enough, having we?_

_Also, sorry about the clumped paragraphs at the end of chapter four. My Word document decided to royally screw itself over for some reason, so I'm going to have to type the whole thing out again and re-post it. There won't be any difference to the chapter, story-wise, so don't worry about needing to read it again._

_Without further ado, enjoy chapter five!_

CHAPTER FIVE

Hermione took her professor's advice.

Between obsessing over his words, drowning in her memories and trying her best to convince Ginny she was okay, she found time to visit the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was more than obliging, offering Hermione a whole range of potions, drafts and spells that might ease her nights. But short of _stupefying_ herself every night, she didn't really believe that anything would stop the rampaging thoughts. In spite of this, she went to bed each night with an empty vial of sleeping draught on her night stand.

And everything got worse.

She still dreamed. She still thrashed and screamed. She still saw her friends and loved ones dying around her each night, and still saw Snape draw his last breath, and the light leave his eyes. Only now, she couldn't wake.

Locked in a never-ending hell of her own memories, Hermione spent each night in her dorm, reliving down to the last second the horrors of the war. In the morning, when the effects of the potion wore off, she would be told by Ginny that she had screamed, and that some of the girls had to hold her down to keep her from falling out of the bed. Once, the thought might have embarrassed her, but now it was just something interesting to linger on, the way the potion affected her. Evidently she couldn't drug the thoughts from her mind, nor did study or learning distract her for long. The dreams always came back. There had to be a way to be rid of them.

A week after her confrontation with Snape, during which she had missed nearly all her classes because she was so exhausted from her nightmares, Professor Sinistra, who had taken over duties as Head of Griffindor, decided that she be moved to the hospital wing for observation. Hermione made no complaint, because she knew it was necessary, but Ginny gave a long and emotional speech about the unfairness of it all as the two made their way to Hermione's new bed.

"It's okay, Gin," Hermione finally sighed, slipping under the covers for the first time. "Go to bed. I'll be fine here with Madam Pomfrey."

"Yeah, and the boy who burned his eyebrows off in Divination," Ginny muttered, looking darkly over to the fifth year boy across the room. "Honestly, how is that possible? It's _Divination_."

"Well, I'd say I'm in better hands here than up in the dorm." She grimaced apologetically at her friend. "Sorry, I didn't mean any offense."

Ginny gave a laugh, short, sharp and anxious. "None taken. I'm an awful healer. My skills are on the aggressive side of things. Most of the time I don't feel like myself unless I'm active."

With the blanket halfway to her chest, Hermione froze, and glanced sharply at the redhead. "What did you say?"

"I'm a bad healer," Ginny repeated slowly, grinning madly. It was obvious she was worried for the girl in the bed, but Hermione couldn't focus on her friends inherent goodness. Something huge had caught her attention, if only her mind could figure out why… "And I'm aggressive. I need to take things head on. I'm a girl of action. No offense to _you_, brainiac, but I don't get my stress out with books. I need to sweat, and bleed, and feel the adrenaline. Be active, you know?"

_Physical release? _Hermione wondered. Was it possible? Could all her issues be solved by rock-climbing, or swimming in the lake? It was logical enough. Physical strain could be enough to exhaust the body and the mind, especially if there were an emotional connection to the activity. She lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking hard.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Ginny hovered over her, hair tumbling into her friends face.

Hermione spluttered and spat red hair from her mouth. "Ginny! Get your hair out of my face, I'm thinking."

"What about?"

"Sport," she said honestly. "Do you think I could stop the nightmares by being physical, too?"

Ginny laughed again, this time with more humour, like she was relaxing. "You make it sound dirty, Mione."

For a long moment Hermione stared at her, wondering what the hell about what she'd said could be misunderstood. Then it came to her. "Oh! Sex!"

"Yes, sex." Ginny shook her head in amusement. "You're a bit slow these days. Maybe you _are_ an adrenaline junkie like the rest of the war kids. You were in the action for long enough."

_Interesting. _Was she telling facts, or assuming that other kids from the war had gone through identity struggles like Hermione was herself? And what if she was right, and that Hermione had been acting in the offensive for so long that being inactive now brought on the nightmares? Maybe it _was_ possible.

"Now what are you thinking about?"

"Professor Snape." It startled her that it was the truth. When had he snuck into her mind again?

The redhead watched her with wide eyes, shocked. "Snape and sex? Are you sure you're okay?"

This time it was Hermione who laughed, as she wriggled into her sheets and said, "No, of course not. He's my professor, and that's weird. No, I'm just thinking that maybe, if I can get my memories under control through being active, I could have a better shot at talking to him."

"Sounds reasonable enough," Ginny yawned. She looked up at the far wall, where Madam Pomfrey was checking the eyebrow-less boy. "Here comes the matron. I better go."

"Yeah, thanks, Ginny. Thanks for being here with me." Her company hadn't provided much in the way of emotional comfort, but she had given her troubled friend far more interesting things to think about than how many stones were in the walls, which Hermione had spent the previous night wondering before the potion took her.

"You're welcome. Sweet dre-" She cut herself off suddenly, and stood up from her chair sheepishly. "I mean, good night."

Hermione smiled at her, and reached for the potion as Madam Pomfrey began to wander over. Raising the vial in a toast, she winked at her friend, shocking them both. "Sweet dreams, Ginny."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi everyone! Yes, I'm alive. I'm so sorry this update took so long. I've been busy with NaNoWriMo, which has taken up my daily limits for creativity and understandable writing. Fortunately for you all, and unfortunately for me, I've had a lull in my word count these past few days, and decided it was time I added this chapter. Hope you enjoy it, because chances are I won't be updating so frequently throughout November. This'll have to tide you over!

Also, if the format seems a little different/annoying, it's because I wrote this on an older version of Microsoft word. Forgiveness please if it's cosmetically unpleasant.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER SIX

That night, for the first time, Hermione didn't dream of death, or war, or pain.

She dreamt of pleasure. And she dreamt of her professor.

She walked through a garden of unimaginable beauty, the grass between her bare feet cool and springy, her hair hanging loose and wild about her shoulders. Everywhere the scent of roses and nature reached her, and she breathed it in, wishing it would never end. But a hand was on her wrist, and she turned to see who was wandering the dream-trails.

It was Professor Snape, as surly and as black as ever.

But somehow, through the familiar sneer and emotionless eyes, she saw a glimmer of something that made her heart beat like a war drum, and her skin tingle in all the right places. Hermione looked into his eyes and waited, patient and calm, for him to speak. When he finally did, it wasn't what she expected.

"I don't want you here."

She blinked rapidly, suddenly enveloped in the feeling that this wasn't entirely a dream. But what else could it be? It wasn't a memory, and unless Madam Pomfrey had spiked her potion with some kind of hallucinogenic, she wasn't drugged. It occurred to her then that she was fully aware that she was imagining it all, which never happened to her in dreams, especially not lately.

"Where exactly are we?" She asked, looking around at the garden.

"Not somewhere you should be. I want you gone." He turned away from her, sleek black hair gleaming in imaginary sunlight.

"But why?" She fought the urge to pout, and grabbed his elbow tightly. "Why can't I be here?"

"Because it is my place, and not somewhere you belong. How you even entered my thoughts is a mystery to me."

"Your thoughts?" That was a shock. Professor Snape, thinking of an exotic, lush garden and a sunset so beautiful it hurt to look at. From what repressed, bright corner of his mind did he conjure this from? "You mean I'm in your head?"

"Yes, you are. You are forever in my head these last few weeks, as you well know."

Hermione let go of his arm and watched him walk away from her, black robes swaying gently around his body in a light summer breeze. She looked down at her own body to find she was wearing a dress very similar to one she used to own when she was younger. Her mother had given it to her for her tenth birthday, a year before she left for Hogwarts. It was a creamy white sleeveless gown, a silk petticoat underneath, and soft lace over the top, tying in a bow under her bust. This dream-version was a little more grown up than the first, with less frills and ribbon, and hugged close to her body like a second skin. She ran her hands across her belly, letting her fingers find comfort in the feel of softness. The memory of her mothers love rang strongly through her bones, and it was then that she knew this was a dream. She was dreaming of things she wanted instead of things she wished never happened. She wanted her parents, their love and their understanding. And she wanted her professor to look at her, to treat her with more civility than he deigned to give her in her waking hours. So far, however, her dream potions master wasn't living up to standard. It was her dream, she could feel it, and despite what he said about the two of them being in his thoughts, she had control here.

"Professor," she called, trotting to catch up to him. "Wait, let me talk to you."

"The things you would talk to me about," he said, "I have no wish to revisit."

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to talk about that either. This is the first dream I've had in nearly a year that didn't involve you dying, or Harry dying, or me and Bellatrix. I don't want to ruin it."

"Yes, I know."

With a sigh, he turned to face her, a halo of pale orange light shining about his head as the sun continued to go down in this strange dream world. The way he looked at her then made her heart skip a beat, and for a brief second, she wondered if he were going to kill her. His eyes held the look, of absolute hunger, of a desire to consume.

"I know exactly what you want, Granger," he said softly. It was almost an intimate confession, as though he were telling her a dangerous and personal secret. Her heart beat wildly, and she found she couldn't look away from those eyes. The dark, sharp eyes that invaded her nights and tortured her days.

Snape lowered his head toward her, so that their faces were barely inches apart. All of her being was screaming at her. _No, he's a teacher! Move away! Get away! _But her limbs wouldn't listen. She simply stood, dumbstruck, as he leaned in to whisper against her cheek.

"It's the same thing you've wanted every night since you came back to Hogwarts."

And then suddenly his lips were against hers, soft and sweet, wrong and so right.

Hermione couldn't move. Her palms began to sweat. Her legs began to shake. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

She felt _alive._

Feeling came back to her in a rush of fire, spreading from her heart out into her arms, her legs, and all the way down to her toes. She wouldn't be surprised to look down and find the ground was in flames beneath her feet. And she wouldn't have cared. She simply felt it all, relished in it. And she revelled in the feeling of her professors mouth on hers.

He kissed her lightly at first, as though she was something delicate that could shatter at the slightest touch. But he must have felt the changes she did, because a moment later her had wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him roughly as his lips moved more forcefully against hers.

She stood on her toes and reached her arms around his neck, bringing him down harder to her lips. It was Hermione who took the first plunge, and gently ran her tongue across his mouth, stroking the corners of his lips, asking for entrance.

With a soft groan, he let her in, and gave his own tongue in return. The feeling of his mouth, his tongue, his hard chest against hers - it was driving her mad. For the first time in her life, Hermione felt the desire to rip a mans clothes from his body and ravish him, taste him, and do all kinds of things she'd only read about.

_It's my dream_, she rationalised, running her hands down his powerful chest. _There's nothing to stop me._

But before she could even touch the buttons on his vest, Snape had his hands on her shoulders, gently brushing aside the straps of her dress and sliding them down her arms. She realised for the first time that she wasn't wearing a bra in this dream, and that one move from him would have her topless before him. Just the thought of it made her wet, and she clenched her thighs together as the fire spread down, unfurling in the very bottom of her stomach.

As if he read her mind, Snape lifted a hand to her breast, and began to lightly brush his knuckles across the tip. She moaned against his mouth as her nipple grew harder and harder, until it was so tight she thought she might scream with need. It was then that he lifted his mouth from hers and, breathing heavily, bent down to flick his tongue over the sheer fabric.

Hermione gasped and moaned again when he caught her nipple in his mouth, and he tugged it gently between his lips. She rested her hands on the back of his head, burying her fingers in his hair and clinging to it like it was her only lifeline to sanity.

"Professor," she rasped, unable to say anything else. Not knowing what _to_ say.

Snape moved from one breast to the other, relinquishing the previous nipple to his skilled fingers, which rolled the hard nub back and forth like a volume dial on a radio. Hermione now felt her panties become almost drenched with her wetness. It had never been like this with Ron. Not once. Need spread through her like liquid fire, pooling in all the right places.

The dress was pulled over her breasts without her being fully aware of it. She only noticed the cool air on her skin before his hands were on her again, burning her flesh with his touch. But her only cupped her breasts in each hands, running his thumbs over her nipples until she whimpered. His mouth made a trail up her neck to her jaw, where he gave lily-soft kisses against the soft skin below her ear. It was so good and yet it wasn't enough. She needed to feel him, not just his hands on her, but her hands on him. She needed his skin.

With fevered movements she pulled the overcoat from his shoulders, only to find that he wore both a vest and shirt beneath. She groaned at the sight, wishing him bare already. Realising her distress, Snape chuckled against her throat.

"Something wrong?" He asked in a surprisingly playful voice.

"You have too many clothes," she whispered. The buttons on his vest gave way easily beneath her fingers even before she touched them. She suspected magic, but couldn't see a wand anywhere.

Again he must have known what she was thinking, because he murmured, "This is a dream, Granger. It does not have to make sense."

"Nothing makes sense with you, professor," she replied, and promptly took his mouth in a desperate kiss, already feeling her lips swell from their passion.

Hermione felt him smile against her mouth. It began a whole new series of white-hot flashes through her chest, knowing she made him happy. Knowing she made him feel at all.

His vest fell to the ground. Not long after, his shirt followed, and she stepped out of his embrace to let her eyes feast on him. She was not disappointed.

Her professor was a contrast of black and white, from his dark hair and eyes to the perfectly pale skin that covered his chest and abdomen. Subtle muscle was everywhere, under his chest and throughout his stomach. It wasn't long before looking wasn't enough, and so she reached out to him again, longing for contact.

Snape shot a hand out to her shoulder, keeping her at arms length. Before she could complain, his eyes roamed down her neck to her bare chest, completely exposed to him.

Desire flashed across his gaze, and burned her where he looked.

"Perfect," he whispered, lowering his hands to brush the skin at the side of her breast. "Just as always."

She had no idea what he meant by that and didn't particularly care, because the next moment he had her in his arms again, crushing her to him. The feeling of his skin against hers… there was no way she could describe it. Completion would come close, but even that couldn't name the feeling of coming-together, of wholeness, that enveloped her in that moment. She felt so real again, and so alive, that tears rolled down her cheeks and she gave a small sob against her professor's lips.

In a moment he lowered them both to the ground without her being aware of how they got there, only that he was blissfully, wonderfully with her, the dark prince she had been waiting for, completely unaware that she needed him.

She titled her head back and moaned unashamedly as he made a trail of fire up her neck with wet kisses. His hand rested on her breast before he silenced another moan with his mouth, hard and demanding on hers. The possessive way he held her, the way he hovered over her just so slightly so that their bodies wouldn't touch - it drove her crazy. She needed to feel him, all of him, against her naked flesh. He was depriving her of satisfaction, something completely new for them both.

Hermione fought for breath as he kissed her, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth with sure, hard strokes. She reached around his waist and tried to force his body onto hers, but she hadn't counted on his strength. He resisted, and punished her efforts cruelly by taking his hand off her breast, creating even more space between them. She whimpered against his lips.

"Professor," she gasped. "Please, don't tease me."

He grinned cruelly, a sight she had never seen before. Hermione watched him, mesmerised, while his hand travelled down below her waist and disappeared between her legs.

A moment later she cried out, arching her back off the grass and pushing herself against his hand. His fingers rubbed with excruciating slowness against her wet panties, feeling every inch of her from the top of her slit to the bottom.

"You feel so good," he moaned. "I cannot wait a moment longer."

"Me neither," she confessed. Her legs came up to wrap themselves around his waist. "Hurry."

Snape did as he was told, leaning away from her to kneel between her legs. He fumbled with his belt, struggling endearingly through his obvious desire to get his trousers down. There was barely a moment in which Hermione could fully appreciate the beauty of his cock before he was over her again, his warm breath fanning her face.

Neither of them said a word as he slowly pushed himself inside her, exerting control Ron never had. Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head, feeling every inch of him as he slid inside her wet folds. Only when he was fully inside he did he allow himself a moment of selfishness, and he tipped his head back to moan.

And then he began to move, and Hermione wondered if she had ever been so close to insanity as she was then. There was nothing else in the world, real or imaginary, that could compare to the feelings he was igniting in her. Passion. Desire. Fullness. And a need so all-encompassing that she couldn't focus on anything but the feel of him, the sound of his breath, the taste of his lips.

In and out he moved, each time brushing past the deliciously tender spot inside, enticing a cry from her. He moved faster and faster, drove himself deeper and deeper. The fire in her belly grew to an inferno, making her tighter and tighter until she knew it would burst. At the brink of it, Hermione was sure she would go mad.

And then release.

Glorious, soul-wrenching, long-awaited release.

She felt herself grow light then, not hollow as she had been, but _light_. Like the weight of her secret torment had been lifted, and she could walk without stooping, swim without sinking, fly without falling. She was _free_.

Beneath him, Hermione arched her back one last time, her mouth open and her eyes closed, already the most beautiful thing Snape had ever seen even before she screamed. But at that sound, knowing that she was experiencing the same intense pleasure he was increased tenfold, and he came into her with a loud cry of his own before collapsing against her.

They lay that way for some time, neither having the energy, or inclination, to move. Hermione was perfectly happy to lay there for eternity amongst the flowers, with her potions professor still inside her and his breath in her ear. Snape was content to stay buried inside her, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, wildly at first, but now slow and strong, the essence of life itself. Only when the dream-world sun had dipped below the horizon and the night came did they move.

Snape pulled himself up and out of her arms, looking down at her frowning face with a rueful smile.

"Miss Granger," he began softly, running a hand down her lovely cheek.

But then he was gone. At first Hermione looked around wildly, wondering if he had disapparated. Only it wasn't just him that had gone. The garden was gone, too, and the flowers. The air now smelled of cold stone and crisp white sheets, and a smell uniquely her own - the smell of her arousal.

Hermione looked around the hospital wing in a daze, slowly coming to terms with the fact that she had woken. No one else stirred amongst the beds, and not even Madam Pomfrey was there to see her stare blankly at the walls. Everything was silent, and still.

She lay back against her pillow and stared at the ceiling, her mind whirring with too many thoughts. So many more than she'd had in a long time. Far down on her list was the realisation that she hadn't had nightmares. But first and foremost in her mind was one question.

_What the hell was that?_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I've been really looking forward to this chapter. That's really all I have to say._

_Thank you to everyone for all the lovely reviews! Your comments mean so much to me – they're what keep me writing! And to all you crazy critters out there who have 'favourited' or 'story-alerted' the story, thank you for your more subtle way of saying you like what I've written :D _

CHAPTER SEVEN

Severus Snape woke up alone that morning, thinking of roses and sunset and a girl in a white dress.

He lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling above his four-poster bed, waiting for the cold air of the dungeons to wake him fully. Remarkable scenes played themselves over and over in his mind, things that shouldn't have, and could not have, happened. And yet, the dream had felt so different from those he usually endured, as though he were not the only one dreaming it.

_Impossible_, he thought.

But how to explain the presence of the Granger girl, who, though she was often in his dreams of late, was so eager and willing to let him touch her? And in what world would she ever have wanted to touch him in return? He wasn't used to the level of intimacy, of need and desire that swirled around him in that garden. In his dreams, she was never usually so fiery. Never so _alive_.

It had taken some time after the war, but Severus had finally come to terms with the fact that, no matter how he tried to make it otherwise, she would always be in his dreams. At first they were only flashes of her face, sometimes her hands, and sometimes the ethereal otter that erupted from her wand that night. But as time wore on, and as soon as he had returned to Hogwarts, the dreams had changed dramatically. Now, instead of only fleeting glimpses of the girl who saved his life, he saw all of her, the image unbroken. And when she had started talking to him in class, determinedly trying to get his attention, the dreams had changed again. Each night for the past two months, he had undressed Hermione Granger in an open field, lain her down and fucked her like a wild dog.

At first, the shame had been more than he could bear. To dream of a student, of _that_ student, no less, and to dream of her naked breasts, her dripping cunt… it was beyond repulsive. He could barely look at her now, fearful that if he looked into her eyes she would see what an abhorrent creature he was, dreaming of being inside a girl less than half his age. But he couldn't control the dreams any more than he could control the weather. Something inside him needed to be with her every night, needed to feel her and see under him, lying still and compliant as he did what he needed. And he hated himself for it, more than he already hated himself for everything.

And yet, last night had been different again. The dream began in a stunning garden, not the field, and the girl had been wearing a dress of beautiful white silk and lace, not the school uniform he dreamed of. And she had seemed just as shocked by their surroundings as he had, as though she knew she was dreaming. As though she were _in_ his dream, not just a part of it. Disbelieving, he had grabbed her arm so she would turn to look at him, and he could see whether or not she were really there.

There was life in her eyes he was not accustomed to. This creature, whatever she was, was not a conjuration of his mind. She couldn't be there.

"I don't want you here," he had said, a test. The Hermione he dreamed of was nothing more than an empty shell, who said nothing and who saw nothing, only did what his mind commanded. But this Hermione spoke, and it was then he knew this wasn't a dream. Somehow she was there with him, on a different plane of consciousness.

"Where exactly are we?" She asked, glancing around with wide eyes at the garden. Her lips parted softly, as pink and luscious as the roses around her. He had to turn away to break his stare, worried that she might see how he wanted her. It wasn't like him to want anyone, especially a girl like her. But in his dreams, he was a different person – animalistic, primal, giving in to his most basic instincts and desires. He couldn't let her see, couldn't let her know how very weak he was in these moments, where he let his emotions rule him as he never did in the waking world.

But as the dream wore on, he realised that she was pandering to him exactly as he wanted. Demanding his attention, pleading for his understanding. It was a reflection of what happened in the classroom, albeit on a more personal and sexual level. Severus wondered if this were still a dream after all, but a dream different from the usual because of her recent outburst, when she had come to his chambers, dishevelled and barely dressed, seeking comfort. She had been wearing nothing but a nightgown that night, not even a bra. He knew because his eyes were inexplicably drawn to her nipples, which jutted out proudly against the sheer fabric of her dress. And now here she was again, in a beautiful dress, saying the things she said to him that night in the dungeons.

All that had happened after that felt increasingly dream-like. The girl would never allow him to kiss her, stroke her breasts or suck her nipples between his lips. She would certainly never had writhed and moaned under him like she was being burned alive, and never would have demanded to touch him in return. It had to be a dream.

It had to be.

Severus sat up slowly from his bed, swinging his feet to the icy stone floor, ignoring the feeling as he did every other than came to him, physical or not. As soon as he was upright, he pushed the dream to the back of his mind, leaving it to think about another time. When he lay in bed was the only time he allowed himself to think about anything other than work, so he would never be caught daydreaming during a class or reliving the horrors of his life in the bathtub. He had managed to separate himself entirely from his feelings, determined not to feel anything at all unless he was asleep. It was working well so far, except where the Granger girl was concerned. He wished, not for the first time, that she hadn't taken potions this year.

The day went on without any trouble, just as he had hoped. In total, he took seventy-three points from Gryffindor, thirty-five from Hufflepuff, ten from Ravenclaw and none from the Slytherin. It was a good day, all in all.

But the evening brought on dreadful news. Working alone in his private rooms, there was a knock at the door. He glanced up, and considered for a moment not opening it, and pretending he wasn't there. Severus didn't like to be disturbed in his room.

"Severus," a muffled voice said. "It's Poppy. I have need of your expertise."

Pomfrey. Always demanding his time, always asking for favours. It was about time the hospital wing employed a resident draught-maker. He certainly wasn't getting paid any more to do her these 'favours'.

He opened the door and looked down at her with a blank expression, not so menacing as he looked at his students, but with enough contempt in his eyes to let her know he wasn't happy with the visit.

"I can't stay long," she said.

"Did I ask you to?"

She pursed her lips, not impressed. "The sleeping draught I gave the Granger girl, it didn't work. She said she still dreamt, though she didn't move all night. I need you to make a potion for dreamless nights that won't paralyse her as she sleeps. The poor girl will get bed sores."

The girl was still dreaming, but about what? For a moment he felt a pinch of fear, hoping that he hadn't been wrong and that she hadn't been in the dream with him. But to Poppy he remained cool, and began closing his door even as he spoke.

"It will be done."

"She needs it tonight, Severus," Poppy barked through the rapidly closing gap. "I'm busy with a first year that has developed frog's eyes. When you're finished, take the potion to her."

His body froze, one hand still on the doorknob. "To Miss Granger?"

"Yes. You will need to explain to her what it does, or she might think you're poisoning her." The woman appraised him with the one eye he could see. "And please, don't try to poison her. You owe her that much."

"So I am told," he growled, and slammed the door shut. He stood there for a long moment, breathing deeply through his nose in an attempt to calm himself, flexing his fingers by his sides.

All the staff knew what had happened the night he nearly died, Minerva had seen to that. The bravery and kindness of the Granger girl was a hot topic in the staffroom, and none of the smarmy bastards would let him forget the debt he owed the girl. Debt! What kind of sick world was it when a whiny teenager was praised for prolonging another's suffering? What kind of world was it when he was expected to show gratitude to the girl who had pulled him from the brink of safe, sweet death? He owed her nothing, and had half a mind to poison her potion after all.

Naked beauty though she may be in his dreams, she was still an insufferable know-it-all when awake, as well as the one person on the earth he hated more than himself. In his dreams, just as he was a different man, she was a different woman, all soft curves and glowing eyes. But life wasn't like the garden of roses, bathed in the light of sunset while the birds sang sweetly. Life was dark, cold and cruel, and he had grown to deal with it by forgoing all emotion. No amount of 'owing' the girl would ever have him grovelling to please her, following her with dewy eyes as did most of the moronic boys he taught, or singing her praises as the staff did.

No. He would remain dark, cold and cruel as the world expected him to. And he would not allow himself to feel anything, just as always.

Hours later, when the Great Hall was empty of students gulping down their meals and curfew was about to begin, Severus found himself wandering the halls for the one girl he never wanted to see again. Sinistra had informed him that Hermione wasn't in her dormitory, but the professor told him this without anger or worry. The teachers seemed to have come to a silent agreement not to punish the girl should she break school rules. She was of age now, and a hero of the war. It seemed she could do what she wanted.

He wandered into the library, inhaling the rich smell of old books, dust and knowledge, the very place he had often found solitude when he was student here, all those years ago. Now, at nearly fifty, it was no longer a place to hide, but a place of calm and peace. He would never admit it to Madam Pince, who's dream it would be to have Severus Snape admit fault, but sometimes he fancied he would have liked the life of a librarian, even before that of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Defeating the Dark Arts may be a goal he always strived for, but books were a passion. Unfortunately, it was a passion the girl shared, and so he knew it would be in this place that he found her.

He bypassed the open tables in the middle of the library and headed for the private studies that lined the back wall, three-walled booths where students could read in peace and quiet, away from the gaggle of rambunctious children who used the library as a social gathering place. It was a perfect place for an eighteen year-old girl to find solitude, in one of these booths, and so he began systematically checking each one as he passed it. Not until the final booth did he see her, and when his eyes came to rest on her, he wished to every god, past and present, in all words discovered and undiscovered, that he hadn't.

Hermione sat atop the table in the centre of the room, her feet resting flat on the wood, knees drawn up in front of her. One arm was pushed behind her, holding her body up for support, while the other …. The other had disappeared between the crux of her legs.

Severus nearly dropped the vial in his hand when realised what she was doing.

Her head was tipped back, eyes closed and lips gently parted, completely unaware that her professor was standing behind her, watching her with wide eyes as she touched herself in the library. He watched the slow rotation of her wrist, fingers and cunt obscured by her thigh, hips and waist hidden by her pulled-up skirt. The smell of her arousal was thick in the air, and he breathed it in without meaning to, groaning softly at the scent.

Hermione's eyes flew open, but her head turned slowly to look at him, as though she wasn't surprised he was there. The look in her eyes paralysed him. Such need and heat and utter abandon that it consumed him, setting fire to his limbs and made him catch his breath. It was the girl from his dreams, brought to life.

"Professor," she gasped, keeping her warm eyes locked on his. To his horror, her hand began to work more feverishly between her legs, and he had a sudden thought. Was she fingering herself, or just playing with her clit? Imaging both had him instantly hard, and try though he might, he couldn't turn away to hide his shame. But she wouldn't look away from his face, and she wouldn't stop.

_Why wouldn't she stop?_

The sound of her soft panting filled the small room until he could hear nothing else. His heartbeat hammered in his ears. He was horny as hell, and disgusted with himself, but still he couldn't look away.

_Why couldn't he look away?_

"Professor," she said again. "Please … touch me."

It was too much. It was far too much. He shouldn't be here. He should not be seeing this. He could not stop seeing this. He could not stop wondering what she felt like. Was she as soft as in his dreams? Were her thighs coated with her warm juices? _What did she taste like?_

"Touch me," she whispered. It was a plea, it was a request; it was a need.

And it was far, far too much for him.

Something broke the spell she had woven over him, and suddenly he could move again. He all but threw the vial of potion at her, hearing the glass tinkle as it hit the table and rolled to her, coming to rest against her backside. It took all his strength not to be jealous of the vial.

"Take this an hour before you go to sleep," he said roughly, amazed that he voice held no evidence of the raging heat spreading through his limbs, or the incredible strain against the crotch of his pants. "Drink it all. And do not talk to me again."

Before she could say another word, Severus turned and spun on his heel, fighting the urge to run from the library, and from the sweet scent of her cunt. He had never run from anything before. But this girl, and what she stirred in him... it was downright terrifying.

_A/N: Hehehehehehehehe! That was fun _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hello all! To all the reviewers who said it was an evil, horrible thing to end the last chapter where I did... I'm sorry. I really am, but it had to be done._

_Also, I'm trying something new where I outright say when a new scene is coming up. This is because, reading over previous chapters, I've realised it can jump from morning to afternoon very suddenly, and I know that might be confusing. Of course, the scene breaks appear on my Word document, but not here. So you guys will now get an obvious warning before I decide to haphazardly jump 12 hours ahead, or whatnot._

_With that in mind, enjoy!_

CHAPTER EIGHT

When he arrived back in his chambers, Severus knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep that night.

Not only was he wide-awake, with the image of his teenage student burned into his mind, and the sounds of her pleading whispers echoing in his ears, but he was afraid what would happen should he dream of her again. Too many strange things had happened in such a short time, and all of it to do with Granger and her delicious body. The hard evidence of his erection shamed him beyond anything he felt for the girl, sexual or otherwise. It couldn't happen, this fantasy he dreamed of. It had to stay in his thoughts, and his thoughts alone, where it could hurt no one but himself.

With a frustrated grunt, he swept an arm across the desk in his study, pushing books, quills and ink to the floor in a messy heap. It did nothing to calm the raging emotions inside him, but it did please him to do something destructive. These feelings were new to him; it had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to feel anything at all. And yet here were two emotions he hadn't felt since he himself was a teenager – lust and passion. Ink dribbled down the cover of a book on the floor, and he watched its path with a blank expression. He barely even registered what he was looking at. All he could think of was the girl.

_Granger_. That mudblood bitch. Who was she to torment him like that? And what was she playing at, begging him to touch her? Away from the temptation of her sweet-smelling cunt and eyes full of desire, he could think straight again. The very idea of touching her, of putting his hands on a Muggle-born brat, it filled him with revulsion far stronger than anything he had felt in the last few weeks. He was above it, and he was the master of himself. He wouldn't allow her to take control of him so easily again. Like a hungry basilisk, he wouldn't look her in the eye. Like a cauldron of poisoned Amortentia, he wouldn't breathe her in. And in a final attempt to regain some sense of normalcy, he himself would drink some of the dreamless potion he had given her. No more dreams of the girl, no more looking at her, no more seeking the smell of her honeyed mudblood skin. He would put an end to this ridiculous spell she had over him, and he would ensure that he would never again feel the slightest thing for the girl, unless it were disgust.

Because he should be disgusted by her. By all reason, she was the very embodiment of his every hate and peeve; a mudblood, a Gryffindor, a know-it-all, arrogant and deceitful, and, as she had proven tonight, manipulative and dangerous. Yes, it would be wise of him to avoid her. Strong though he was, he couldn't run the risk of letting her inside his head again. She had been there too long, and wrought enough damage on his already-tarnished soul.

The staff would say he owed her a friendship, or his trust at the least. They would say the girl deserved something for her efforts that night in the Shrieking Shack, and that he was bound to pay. Even Granger had mentioned he should be grateful. But for what? The chance to live out the remained of his natural life in acute misery, which no matter how he tried to suppress, always came back to him? Memories of the dead haunted his every step. The ghosts of those he had killed, by his hand or not, sang dreadful melodies in his head. For every day that went past, there was another memory to dodge, and a feeling to quash. No one should have to live like this. He certainly didn't deserve to. And this mockery of an existence, the 'gift of life' she had given him, was nothing more than another dead soul walking the earth. He wasn't grateful. He never would be.

Severus went into his private workroom and found a cauldron of bubbling liquid, black as tar and just as thick. He carefully filled a vial to the right dosage before downing it in two gulps, grimacing at the sour taste it left behind. Then he sat down in the only chair in the room, and breathed deeply, closing his eyes, driving a torrent of thoughts to the back of his mind. One of the things he had perfected over his years of service to Lord Voldemort was the ability to clear his mind, and to become perfectly empty of all thought and feeling. He could not maintain it indefinitely, as the emotions and doubts always came rushing back to him at the slightest weakening of his mind, but it gave him peace for hours at a time. It was in this way that much of his teaching career had passed, and only when he slept did he surrender the calm to a flood of thought.

He sat there for an hour, until he was sure the potion had taken effect, thinking of nothing at all. When he finally rose to go to bed, it was without a single though to the Granger girl, or what had happened only hours before. It was already forgotten, dormant in the back of his mind. Eventually it would come back to haunt him, as did everything else - but not tonight. Tonight, he needed the blissful sanctuary of a dreamless sleep. Just one night free from the paralysing grip of her eyes. One night to himself.

- One week later -

Severus' plan lasted a full week before the inevitable cracks began to show.

True to his word, he didn't look the girl in the eye, didn't speak to her or acknowledge her existence at all, sometimes even deigning to skip over her name during roll call. He didn't think of her, linger on his hatred of her, or his strange desire to take her over the desk in his classroom, or give her a second thought. It was the most peaceful week he'd had since returning to the castle, helped largely by his constant ritual of clearing his mind. And when it came time to sleep, he succumbed to the unconscious world with an empty vial of dreamless potion on his nightstand. It had all been going so well. He felt stronger and more confident in his indifference every day.

Of course, he hadn't counted on the girl's own determination.

It happened one week later, almost to the hour of the inital compromising dream, which hadn't haunted him at all until she appeared for the second time in his dungeons. He knew she was coming, of course. The spells warding his classroom did their job perfectly, but knowing who was coming could not prepare him in any way for how to deal with her once she arrived. The students assumed he lived within the dungeons, he knew, but they were entirely wrong. His chambers were on the other side of the castle, close to the staffroom, as were all the teachers'. This meant he couldn't scarper off to his bedroom to hide. Should he try to leave the dungeons, he would run right into her anyway. He could lock the classroom door, but she knew how to counter any spell he could cast. He could turn himself invisible, but again, she would find a way to discover him. The advantages to being an insufferable know-it-all were such that she literally did _know it all_.

After a few moments of trying to decide what to do, Severus snorted to himself. Why should he hide? He was a far better man than to hide from a teenage girl, or else he would no more mature than she. In the few seconds before she walked into the dungeon, unannounced and without so much as asking to come in, he scolded himself on behaving like such an infant, and stood tall behind his desk, cleaing his mind of all thought. He was determined to face her as though he hadn't been trying his hardest all week to ignore her existence.

The girl entered the room hair-first. It still amazed him that one person, without so much as the lycanthropy curse, could have so much wild, curly hair. The rest of her soon followed, dressed simply in jeans and a cardigan, as though she were making a social call to a friend and not barging in to a professor's office. Her eyes found him immediately, but he wasn't captured in her sure gaze as he had been once. Now, with a clear head and his emotions under control, he was ready for whatever she had to say.

She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and looked at him silently for a moment.

"Hello, professor," she said.

"Miss Granger," he said silkily, "You have five seconds to leave this room before I drag you from it myself. My colleagues might find your charade endearing and tragic, but I can assure you that I find it nothing but pathetic and unwarranted. If you are looking for sympathy, take your false troubles elsewhere so that they might be appreciated by morons more to your level."

"As always, it's lovely to see you, too, sir," she replied steadily, unfazed by his rudeness. It was slightly disturbing, how unafraid of him she was. He must be losing his edge. There was once a time when he could have her nearly wetting herself with fear, simply from a look.

His eyes bore into hers, hard and unyielding, and black as night. "Leave."

"I have something to say, first."

"And I am not interested in any of it. Get out of my classroom."

"I want to explain myself for what happened last week."

Halfway to turning his back on her, Severus froze. It never occurred to him that she would bring the incident up, as she must have been embarrassed beyond reckoning, and rightly so. Was it possible she hadn't come here to beg his understanding and sympathy, as she had last time?

"What is done is done, Granger," he said, refusing to look at her. With a deep breath, he sought to keep control of the calm he had worked for. It was threatening to break at the memory of her on that table, knees apart, hand hidden in her… "I do not want to hear another word about it. Go back to your dormitory."

"I need to explain myself, sir. Please, I won't bother you with it again, I swear. I just need you to hear me out this once."

Severus looked at her, frowning. "Will you swear never to come back to these rooms again? Will you swear to leave me be? Only if you promise me this will I listen to the highly inappropriate speech you have no doubt been rehearsing all week."

"You think very highly of yourself, to assume I've spent so much time worrying about what you think," she said, eyes glittering dangerously. "I wouldn't mention it at all if I didn't know it was affecting my grades." She held up a hand when he began to interupt. "No, don't argue. In class you look at me even less than before, if it's possible, and I know that sooner or later my grades will suffer because of it. That's the only reason I'm here."

Shocked into silence, he continued to stand behind his desk, frowning softly at the stranger before him. The Granger he taught before the war would never have spoken to a professor like that. Was it a newfound strength that drove her, or complete reckless regard for her wellbeing? Either way, it wasn't something he would let go unpunished. But not tonight. Tonight, he was curious about just what she might say, regardless of what he told her.

"By all means," he said in a lazy drawl, holding a hand out by silent invitation. "Tell me your story."

Hermione came forward slowly, seeming less sure of herself now that they weren't arguing. Her eyes cast about the room for something to focus on, and he sat down in the seat at his desk, watching her approach him throught the rows of tables.

"I have nightmares, sir," she began, almost hesitantly, she though she weren't sure if she should open up to him. "And sometimes I have panic attacks during the day."

"Incredible," he sneered. "It amazes me that you think any of this is news to me, considering it was I who brewed the dreamless potion for you, and I who witnessed a panic attack in this very room. Please, continue to enlighten me with your statements of the obvious."

Now only a few feet from his desk, she shot him a dark glare but held back from the insult he knew was on her lips. He saw it, sitting in the corner of her mouth like an ugly wart, waiting to be unleashed upon him. Seeing her so disgruntled made him smile. Any sign of destruction was a thing of beauty to him. He loved seeing her composure slip from under her.

"The nightmares and panic attacks are caused by bad memories I have of the war," she continued through clenched teeth, obviously trying hard not to say something untoward. "Sometimes, thinking of the things I have lost makes me feel like a shadow is creeping up on me, waiting every second to take control of my thoughts and drive me to madness. These thoughts are always in the back of my head, and I recently realised that I had to find a way to let them go. To … release them from my head."

Severus did nothing, and said nothing in response to this. He kept his face blank except for the customary curled lip, which by now was more habit than anything. But the things she said… so much of it rang true with things he himself had thought. That a shadow was following him, taking over him slowly, paining him at every turn, at every chance he had for happiness. It was because of this darkness, this 'shadow', that he had long since decided to stop feeling at all. How strange it was that the girl had similar issues. Not that he cared.

"I came back to Hogwarts intending to drive the memories from me by filling my head with other things. Like schoolwork, and learning and books. It always worked before, if I needed to stop thinking about something. But, as I discovered, I'm not the same person I was before the war. The things that worked then don't work for me now. It took me a little while to figure out that I've become a person of action, and that sitting idle in the library won't do anything for me now. I need to be active. I need physical release."

All at once, it became clear where this was going. Severus broke his gaze from her, noticing only then that he had been staring at her lips the entire time. He started to rise from his chair.

"Miss Granger, I have heard enough. To think that I care about your troubles-"

"I didn't ask you to care," she snapped. "I asked you to listen. So sit down and listen to me."

His head whipped around to look at her with furious eyes. "Do not speak to me like I am your equal, girl. Your misguided illusions of any amity between us is something you must come to terms with this instant, because I will not tolerate this a moment longer."

"When you found me in the library, I had just discovered that sexual release may be an option," Hermione went on furiously, holding her hands in fists by her sides. "I'm sorry that you had to see it, and I'm sorry if I offended you with what I said. I wasn't in control of myself then. I was at the mercy of my feelings, and that hasn't happened to me in a long time, so I didn't want to stop it. To be honest, you could have been Filch or Professor Binns and I wouldn't have acted any differently."

Severus heard all this with his attention turned elsewhere, or so he let her think. The topic was highly inappropriate, even if she was now of age. She was still a student, and for him to allow this kind of talk was sheer stupidity on his part. Curiosity be damned, it wasn't right for him to hear this. To hear that she was so absorbed in her ministrations that she didn't care that he caught her, that she was so lost in the feeling of touching herself that she was 'at the mercy of her feelings'. And to hear that she would have said the same time Filch… to _Filch_! A sudden flare of red-hot jealously spiked in his gut before he could control it. But on the exterior, he kept as indifferent as he could, hoping not to let her know of his inner turmoil. The calm he had tried to hard to achieve minutes before was gone, replaced by too many questions, thoughts and images that had no place in his head.

"Are you quite done?" He asked.

Hermione stared at him, disbelieving. "Really? That's all you have to say? Does this happen to you so often that you've now become bored of hearing it? You know, for all that you say you don't care about me, I'm not entirely sure you're being honest. If you didn't care about me then you wouldn't treat me like a social pariah in potions. You'd treat me like any other student. You'd insult me, take points from me, call me a stupid girl. But this? This is bullshit, sir. I _know_ you're not that indifferent to me."

"It seems you have been giving me a lot of thought," he mused, intending to aggravate her further. The slow destruction of her sanity was incredibly amusing to him. "My apologies if I haven't lived to your expectations."

"You wouldn't be living to anyone's expectations if it weren't for me."

And there it was again. She'd crossed the line.

He shot to his feet, lay his palms flat on the desk and turned his fate-filled eyes to hers, though this time, she held her ground and stared defiantly back.

"Oh, how you congratulate yourself for that, don't you, Granger?" He snarled. "The little mudblood heroine of the tale, gallantly rescuing the tortured potions master from a grim death. It might not have occurred to you, angel, that your actions were entirely selfish and unwanted, not unlike your presence here tonight. I care very little about anything you do, say or dream about, because I care very little about you. In no way am I indebted to you, nor do I give a _shit_ about your life. The next time you feel like trying to win my sympathy or my gratitude, first you should ask yourself if I need a stone lodged in my brain. The effect would be the same."

"Well, I can see that you're just as much of a cold-hearted bastard as you have always been," she said, voice soft and deadly. "And here I thought it was just your soul that was bleak and grey. You had a chance, _sir, _to save what's left of your pathetic life, but I guess you're not interested in salvation. I had thought that, out of everyone in this world, you and I might understand each other better than anyone else. Thank you for showing me how wrong I was to assume you 'gave a shit' about anything but your own self-loathing."

Before he could say anything, she had turned on her heel and stormed across the classroom, hair bouncing angrily as she went. Hermione slammed the dungeon door shut - no mean feat as it was made of heavy wood - and let the silence of her departure envelope him. He stared at the door for a long time, thinking about nothing, and thinking about everything. Her words swirled around his head, meaningless and not worthy of attention, but yet at the same time striking such a note within him that he couldn't give his attention to anything else. _Salvation_, she had said. As though simply talking away the worries of the war would give him any semblance of peace.

He sat down with a derisive snort. Stupid mudblood. What was she thinking, coming here? Did she honestly expect him to extend the hand of friendship, after all these years? Didn't she know him at all?

And talking openly to him about her newfound technique to relieve stress, for he was confident that was all it was… _what was she thinking? _Aside from the absolute inappropriateness of the whole conversation, what was she expecting to happen by telling him? That he would rip off her clothes and help her to live through the darkness? It was absurd in the highest, and downright revolting to say the least.

Something was most certainly wrong with the Granger girl, but it wasn't something any potion or spell could fix. The girl was mad, pure and simple. He wouldn't have another thing to do with her, starting now. If the fancy took him, he may even request she be removed from his class, and explain to Minerva that the girl wasn't mentally stable.

Lost in his thoughts on his way back to his chambers, Severus forgot to drink from the newst batch of dreamless potion. He went to bed with a head full of thoughts that were - unbeknownst to him, and as usual - of Hermione.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hello all. It's been a while since I updated, I know, and I am SO SORRY! Life has been busy and honestly, I haven't had much inspiration on the FanFiction front. NaNoWriMo took over my life for a little while, and then work got in the , no more excuses. Enjoy chapter nine!_

CHAPTER NINE

Hermione opened her eyes to a spectacular view.

The room she found herself in could only exist in fantasies, with high marble pillars and a ceiling reminiscent of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. A rich red carpet ran the length of the room from one door to another. It felt soft and surprisingly cool between her bare toes. Elaborately furnished sofas and chairs were strewn about the room, some on their sides and others missing legs, the only evidence that this room was one of danger. In the corner of the room, staring out a window almost as high as the ceiling, was Professor Snape.

Almost immediately, Hermione was overcome with the feeling that this wasn't a dream. Just as the last time she found herself in a strange place with the potions master, she was aware that she was in control of herself, and that she had no memory of this place. It occurred to her briefly that she might be in his head, as he had once said. But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

She stood perfectly still, wearing jeans and a pink cardigan strangely like the clothes she had worn to the dungeons earlier in the night when she tried to explain herself to the man before her. Snape made no movement either, only stared out the window with a blank expression, breathing deeply. Trying to summon her logic in the strange dream-land she was in, Hermione considered what could be happening.

It couldn't be a dream. That was the first true thing she knew. She distinctly remembered taking the dreamless potion after she returned from the dungeons, furious at her professor and ecstatic that she could still _be_ furious. Anger and rage hadn't been in her emotional lexicon for over a year. Instead she had been driven by sorrow and regret, which gradually turned into the all-consuming monster that was her emptiness. The 'shadow' she had called it when she spoke to Snape, and a shadow it was, darkening all her thoughts and dulling her senses until she could barely feel the sun on her skin anymore. And yet here, in this place, she could feel everything from the cool air on her skin to the carpet under her feet. Her dreams, not even those that forced her to relive her memories, never felt so physically real. Her panic attacks felt real enough, with even smells down to the slightest detail. But never her dreams. No, this wasn't a dream at all. So what was it?

As she contemplated, Snape turned suddenly to look at her, and she nearly quivered under the full weight of his gaze. They watched each other for a heartbeat and then he turned back to the window, expressionless as ever. Hermione hesitated, unsure of what to do. She knew this wasn't a dream, but did he? Last time he said some things that made her think he dreamt of her often - something she hadn't realised until now. He had said that she had wanted something every night since she came to Hogwarts, and then he had made love to her. Was it possible that he dreamt of fucking her every night? It didn't seem right. It wasn't like him at all. From what she knew of him, he wasn't a sexual being, and he especially would never get physical with a student. Knowing this made her stomach flip over and her heart beat wildly as she realised - this wasn't a dream, and neither had the last time been a dream. In this plane of unconsciousness, they were in full control of themselves. The last time, when he had fucked her in the garden of roses … it was actually him. And it was him here now, obviously ignoring her presence as he gazed out the window.

Her palms began to sweat, and she rubbed them against her thighs. Her potions master had fucked her. Snape had fucked her. And damn, he had done it well.

The day after she dreamt of the garden and her professor's beautiful body, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. Her nipples hardened at the thought of his voice, her panties became wet just imagining his fingers playing with her cunt. It was an experience she'd never had before, and the feelings of need and desire consumed her before the day was out. With little regard for being discovered, and not particularly caring what would happen if she was, she retreated to the one place in the castle she had known no one would go; the library. There, with her panties tucked into her satchel and her skirt pulled up around her waist, she touched herself unashamedly and thought of her professor as he had appeared in her dream - playful, beautiful and ridiculously good with his hands. When she heard his soft moan behind her, it was in an almost dream-like haze that she turned to see him watching her.

Even then, in the back of her mind, she wasn't convinced that any of it was real. So consumed she was with the memory of his tongue and fingers, so caught up in the feelings that raged through her veins and nerves that she couldn't think of anything but having him touch her again like he had in her dreams. Only when she found release, and came with a stifled groan on the tabletop, did she realise what had happened.

_Oh god. What have I done?_

By then he was gone, and she didn't know how to fix what she'd done. The distance between them, already wider and deeper than the Grand Canyon, could only have been made worse by her actions. But it wasn't until a week later, when she'd had enough of him ignoring her completely, that she bothered to do anything about it. She knew an apology wouldn't help at all, and that discussing what happened with him would be incredibly awkward, but she had to try.

It would have been better if she had said nothing at all. By the end of her visit to the dungeon, she'd somehow managed to piss him off further. And she'd lied to him for the first time since the night in the Shrieking Shack. She told him that it didn't matter who found her in the library, and that her response would have been the same. Of course that was complete bullshit. It was him and only him that she wanted, for reasons she still hadn't fully come to terms with. Was it the emotional connection with him that she craved, or the shared memory of his near-death experience that made her need him so much? And who could ever have thought that he would be the one to make her feel this way… so desperate, and so fragile.

She stared at him from across the room, and thought that she had never felt more breakable. It was as though he had a charm surrounding him, and when she breached its perimeter, all feeling came back to her in a sudden rush. Though they weren't always good feelings - and largely, unless she was in this dream place, it wasn't likely that they were good feelings - Hermione was in no position to reject feeling _something. _Tonight, in the room of overturned chairs and moonlight windows, she felt like she were made of crystal. And he was an earthquake.

Hermione began to move toward him, not aware that she'd even made the decision to talk to him. Her steps were silent against the carpet as she made her way to him, and the marble floor beside the window was cold under her feet. She stood beside him for a moment, hands in the pockets of her jeans, awkward and unsure. Outside the window was a moon-lit hedge, and beyond it, complete darkness that indicated a wide expanse of flat, empty land. Hermione took a deep breath.

"I thought I told you I didn't want you here," Snape said before she could speak.

She looked up at him, startled at the softness of his voice. Hours before in the dungeons, she could sense he was dangerously close to shouting at her. But then, she had crossed the invisible line fate had drawn between them - she had mentioned the debt he owed her. It seemed strange that now, he could talk to her as though he were simply bored, or maybe even exasperated. As though the last few hours hadn't happened, and he was continuing a different conversation.

_He doesn't realise this isn't a dream,_ Hermione thought. _He doesn't know this is really me. If he did, he wouldn't talk to me at all. Or maybe he'd try to get rid of me._

And so she said nothing, only remained silent as she considered the possibility. If he really didn't know it was a dream, what could she get from him? The answers she wanted, maybe, or a confession as to how he really felt about her. He had to feel something - they'd been through too much together for him to be indifferent to her. But were his feelings purely hateful, or were there other sentiments mixed in with the rage? After all, he had kissed her and touched her and fucked her, even if it was only in a dream, or something he thought was a dream. That had to count for something more than pure disdain.

"What, you have nothing to say tonight?" He asked, looking down at her. Hermione kept her eyes glued to the window, terrified that she might reveal her awareness if she met his gaze. If he figured out that she was in control of herself, he would eventually realise this wasn't a dream. And that wouldn't help her at all.

"We shouldn't be here," he went on quietly, still looking at her with that intense stare. A stare than made her weak at the knees, and set her pulse racing.

_Why wouldn't her palms stop sweating?_

"I do not have fond memories of this place. It is not somewhere I want to linger, much less a place I want to be with you."

And still she kept her gaze only on the hedge outside, watching one leaf in particular as it twitched innocently in an invisible breeze. She could feel it in the air, the sense of danger and foreboding that this place oozed into her mind. Briefly, she wondered if it were his memories she was sensing. But if she were in his memory, then she was in his thoughts.

_Impossible._

"Unfortunately, I have little control over my dreams, as proven by your existence here. Were it up to me, I wouldn't think of you at all. And yet here you are, nearly every night, waiting to torment me in my sleep."

He moved to stand beside her so that their shoulders touched and he faced the room behind her. Hermione could barely suppress the shiver than ran the length of her body at the contact, and silently cursed herself for being so weak. What was it about this man that made her so … horny? It was disgusting, but she couldn't stop herself. Like a moth to flame, she was drawn to him. And if dying meant being burned alive in this mans arms, then she would gladly take death over the cold sting of life.

"Such a masochist I must be," he murmured, his voice reaching her ears like black velvet, "To want to be near you after all that has happened. Just the thought of you is painful. I cannot tell you how much … I hate you."

This time she couldn't help it. A shudder ripped itself through her body from head to toe as he whispered those three words. In them she felt the world of agony and fury he lived with, and she had no doubt that he blamed her for being the cause. But even with the knowledge that he despised her existence, and that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her when all she wanted was to know him… somehow she still found that she wanted him. Irrevocably.

"I want to tell you every day for eternity, so that you can never forget. I want to burn it into your flesh, so that all you meet will know my fury. You took away my chance for escape, and for that I hate you. _I hate you_."

She bit her lip, feeling her breathing turn into panting as he spoke. God, she wanted him. Even after all he said. Even after her newfound joy at being able to feel was crushed under the weight of his admission. She wanted him more than ever. Deep in her stomach her muscles clenched, the beginning of her arousal. If he kept talking she'd be wet, and he'd know what a pervert she was. Getting off on his cruel words?

And he thought he was the masochist.

"So why is it, Miss Granger, that despite how much I would like to see your suffer even half of what I have suffered, I still want to rip your clothes from your body, and claim it for my own?"

It was too much.

With a soft moan she closed her eyes as a torrent of feeling rushed through her. He wanted her. He _wanted_ her. Now she finally knew. Why he couldn't look at her. Why his eyes were drawn to her chest that first night in the dungeons. Why he had stood, as if paralysed, to watch her touch herself in the library. And he felt this even as he hated her for existing. God, it was too much.

Snape moved around behind her where she could feel the heat from his chest. So close, and yet not touching. She bit her lip to stifle another moan, and shifted her hips as she felt the first wave of heat rush through her core.

"I know you want me, too," he whispered in her ear, letting his lips brush lightly across her skin. "Every night you want me. And even in the day, during class. I see you watching me. I know you think of me. You were thinking of me in the library, weren't you? Tell me you were thinking of me, and not bloody Filch."

_Filch? _

Through her desire-fogged mind, Hermione had to wonder why on earth Filch had come into this verbal foreplay. And then she remembered what she said in the dungeon - that she would have told Filch to touch her had he been the one to discover her in the library. Bullshit. She wouldn't let Filch touch her even if he paid her.

"Tell me," he murmured.

Snape stepped closer to her so that his chest pressed against her back, and brought his hands to her waist, where he slowly pulled up her top with his long fingers. Hermione lost her grip on her thoughts completely, and gave in to the flood of sensations washing over her. His body against hers; the hardness of his erection pressing against her ass. And his hands… Oh god, his hands. Now resting on the bare skin of her belly, his fingers drew small circles on her flesh.

"Tell me."

She began panting in earnest, unable to control herself anymore. It didn't matter anymore _why_ she wanted him, or if she even should. All that mattered now was that he didn't stop. That he didn't _ever_ stop.

"Only you, sir," she breathed, tilting her head back against his collarbone. "I only think of you."

"Good girl."

One hand moved to her chin, and before she could complain about the lack of contact, he took her chin with his cool fingers and turned her head to face him. Hermione's eyes fluttered open to look at him as he closed the final distance between them. His dark eyes were heavy with desire, the proud arch of his nose casting a moonlight shadow over his cheek. She didn't think she had ever seen anything more beautiful.

Snape let his lips fall softly against hers in a kiss so tender she thought her heart might burst. But it was only the beginning, and before long he forced her lips apart with his tongue. She let him in gladly, wanting to taste all of him and not waste a single moment. In her waking hours, she could barely get her professor to look at her. In her dreams, it seemed she could always count on a good fuck.

And that didn't bother her at all. So long as he touched her the way he did, who cares if he was Professor Snape, the sneering and cruel master of the dungeons? He certainly wasn't that man in this plane of existence. Here, he was a thorough and considerate lover, tormented with the memories of his past. It was the first time she'd ever had evidence to prove that he struggled with the same darkness she did, and she wasn't going to forget it. If only she could persuade him to open up to her when they woke…

A sudden noise made them both jump, and the magic of their kiss was broken as Snape whipped around to face the door behind him. Bereft of the absence of his lips, Hermione took a moment to realign her senses. When she turned to see what had made the noise, she saw only an empty room of chairs and marble. Her professor was emotionless as ever as he faced the doorway, seeming to have reverted back to his normal self. A defence strategy, she thought, to keep people from seeing the tormented man beneath.

"I wake," he said, his voice the soft drawl she remember from class.

Hermione realised what was happening seconds too late.

"No," she whispered, and tried to reach out to him, only to find that her hands went right through his body. His image was rapidly fading.

With a rueful smile, one that was neither cruel not benevolent, he said, "I will see you tomorrow."

And just like that, the room, the chairs and the man all disappeared, leaving Hermione staring at the ceiling from the four-poster bed in her dormitory. Almost immediately, a sense of emptiness fell over her like a heavy blanket. It was all too familiar, and so very unwanted. Her skin forgot what his hands felt like, and her lips could no longer taste him. The cold shock of reality began to set in and the darkness that had lifted the second she saw Snape came back, settling into her bones like an old habit. The strange dream was over, and she was in the real world again.

She glanced at the bedside table, where the mouth of an empty vial stared back at her. But it wasn't the dreamless potion that was going to save her now. And no matter how good she felt during her nights, it was the days that weren't getting any better.

Hermione stared with hard eyes at the top of her bed, noticing that the last of her feelings were seeping out of her body like blood from a wound. Slowly killing her.

_A life for a life, _she thought. _I've saved his life. It's time he returned the favour. No more dreams. I need a real hero._

- End of chapter -

_A/N: Wow. That was longer than I intended it to be. And, it ended differently than I thought it would. This story is constantly surprising me. Just when I think I have it figured out, what I want to be like and where I want it to lead - BAM! - it changes on me._

_*Sigh*… my imagination is the enemy, sometimes._


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The next week brought the end of classes, and the beginning of the Christmas holidays. To Hermione's surprise, it also brought unexpected visitors.

"Hermione!" Harry grinned as he was pushed headfirst through the Gryffindor hole-door. She looked up from her seat beside the fire, where she was absently flipping through a charms book, to meet his bright green gaze.

"Harry?" She frowned, setting the book down. "What in Merlin's name-"

Her voice caught in her throat as Ron followed the dark-haired boy into the room, his ginger hair a beacon of colour in the dreary winter light. The two boys walked over to her almost awkwardly, as though unsure as to how they should proceed with their reunion. Just the fact that they were so hesitant meant only one thing - Ginny had told them that she wasn't getting any better.

As expected, Hermione felt no sense of betrayal or hurt at Ginny's inability to keep quiet. In her position, Hermione would have done the same thing. It was only logical. People under stress needed their friends, and she had no better friends than Harry and Ron. With that knowledge planted firmly in her mind, she stretched her expression into one of forced joy, and rushed over to the boys.

"My God!" She exclaimed as she threw her arms out, pulling them both in for a vice-like hug. Momentarily, the feeling of warm bodies pressed against her reminded her briefly of her latest dream of Snape, but she shrugged it from her mind. This was no time to think of the potion master's strange thoughts, or of her slow-building plan to get him to do as she needed. Today was about proving to them all - Ginny, Harry and Ron - that she was perfectly able to function. It wasn't likely she could fool them that she was the same Hermione they knew before the war, but she could at least do her best to assure them she didn't need to be hospitalized. It had taken enough convincing to get Madam Pomfrey's permission to leave the hospital wing a week before. The matron had fussed over her, not entirely convinced that the girl was ready to return to her dorm. But Hermione had recently discovered a way to keep the night-terrors at bay, and so long as she kept her hand between her legs and her mind only on thoughts of her professor, she would be safe.

It wasn't the best solution, she knew, but it was a makeshift solution. For a more permanent cure, she would need the help of the one person in the castle least willing to talk to her. And he happened to be the only one she _wanted_ to talk to.

Hermione turned her attention back to her friends, releasing them from her grip as they laughed nervously. She looked from one to the other, grinning wildly. The effort involved hurt her cheeks, but she pushed through.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, talking to Harry more than Ron. Somehow, she couldn't quite bring herself to look at him properly. Every time she tried, her head spun dizzily.

"It's Christmas," Harry said with a lopsided grin. "Did you really think we'd let you waste away the holidays with nothing but books for company?"

"Hey," Ginny said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

"Diced kidney," Ron corrected, speaking for the first time. He gave Hermione a small smile which she returned fleetingly, avoiding his eyes.

"Very funny," his sister said, curling an arm around Harry's waist. Hermione didn't even blink at the sudden intimacy. The two had been dating since the war ended, and she knew they had tried their fair share of sexual healing as she and Ron had. The only difference was that, according to Ginny, Harry didn't turn into a weeping mess at the end of orgasm. Months ago, Hermione would have envied her friend the relationship she shared with Harry. But now, she felt nothing but the urge to turn her back on them all and continue reading, something that was marginally more interesting even if it was only a small distraction. Only her constant self-reminders to act normal kept her beside them for the afternoon, as the four sat around the common room fire and talking about what had been happening while they'd been apart.

For the most part, Ginny was content to sit beside Harry on the sofa, leaning against him but not curled into him as she used to. Ron took a chair on one side of the couple, while Hermione sat opposite him. It took her a few moments to decide upon the most natural-looking position in her chair, until eventually she tucked her feet under her so that she sat on her heels, her knees and shins digging into the cushion. It wasn't how she would normally sit, but she thought it would look as though she were eager to be there with them. Rather than pay attention to much of what her friends had to say, she focused on reacting the way she ought to, smiling when she thought she should and asking the questions she thought they needed her to ask. It took hours, and it was close to dinner time when Harry finally asked the question she had seen burning behind his eyes.

"So how are you?"

His tone was loaded with hidden meanings and implications, but she ignored them all and opted for the less-exhausting response.

"Fine. As good as I can be." It wasn't entirely a lie, but it didn't delve too much into her empty soul so that they would worry. "Believe it or not, I'm actually sick of homework, and classes have never been more boring. But I still think it was good to come back. I've needed it, this … innocent distraction. It's like my last grasp at childhood, you know?"

"A childhood that was taken from us." Harry nodded curtly, looking into the fire. By the way his jaw clenched, she wondered if he were thinking of Sirius the way she had in her first week back. When she had sat in this very chair and recited to herself a soft chant meant to soothe and console her… _Harry isn't dead, he was only pretending… Sirius is dead, he won't be in the fire anymore. Don't look for him_… That chant hadn't worked for months. Now the only thing that would calm her after a nightmare or panic attack was a good dose of Calming Draught.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair, scratching her scalp absently. She hoped this was the worst of her interrogation, but Ron had other ideas.

"Have you seen much of Snape?"

She looked up to meet his gaze, only to find she was suddenly engulfed in pools of ocean-blue. Though all romantic feeling for him had been lost to her a long time ago, there was still something in his face that made her heartsick. It was strange, to find that the first non-Snape inspired feeling came from the boy who had been partly responsible for driving all feeling from her. Her dizzy headache returned and she turned away from him, looking down at a pillow in her lap. She began to pick at its loose threads as she answered.

"Of course. I still have classes with him."

Ron leant back in his chair with a sigh. "Yeah, but other than that. Outside of class. Do you talk to him?"

Something in his voice made her want to open up to him, the way she used to when she was worried or happy. He hadn't always been the most enthusiastic ear who'd listen, but he was her friend, and no matter what he'd always been honest with her. She'd had a similar relationship with Harry, but only to a degree, since most of her secret fears and troubles concerned how best to keep him alive. It had always been Ron that she opened up to, something that quickly faded when the war ended, but for some reason was rising up in her again.

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath and plucked a thread from the pillow. She rolled it between her fingers for a few seconds before speaking.

"I've tried. But he won't have it. I know he's mad at me for saving him, and I think it's because he doesn't want to live. Every time I try to talk to him, he turns his back to me and walks away, or gives me some snide comment that's supposed to be an insult. At first I just wanted to talk and try to be friends. But now…"

"But now what?" Harry pressed, his hand clasped over Ginny's on his thigh. Hermione watched his thumb slowly brush back and forth across his girlfriends. Such a small, intimate gesture. She briefly wondered what it would feel like if Snape did that to her. The thought brought all kinds of disturbingly wonderful images to mind, which she had to shake off before they rooted themselves in her head. She had to concentrate on winning her friend's trust again; they'd never leave if they thought she couldn't handle herself. And while she wasn't prepared to tell them of the extent of what she wanted from her professor - she could hardly come to terms with it herself - she would have to give them some semblance of the truth so that they would let her alone.

"I want to understand him," she said simply. "Get inside his head and figure him out. The war must've been the hardest on him. So much more than anyone else." She glanced at Harry and gave a small shrug. "Except you, of course, Harry. But he's _lived_ it for nearly twenty years. I feel like… I need to be there for him. Like he must need some way to let go of the horrors he faced."

"And you think you can do that how?" It was Ron who asked, and Hermione realised that he wasn't the sullen, silent boy she left at the Weasley's house months ago. He'd recovered somewhat - probably through her absence - whereas she'd only gone downhill, and at an alarming rate. She wasn't so out of it that she couldn't recognise her own dire situation. But it was _her _situation, and one that she could fix herself. If only Snape would stop being so stubborn…

She shrugged, pulling at the thread in her hands. This was not an honest answer she was prepared to give. So she lied.

"Intelligent conversation?" She ventured.

Harry burst out laughing at that, and even Ron smiled. The idea of Snape having an intelligent conversation with anyone was a ridiculous idea, she knew. But then, neither Harry nor Ron knew the Snape that she saw in her dreams. A man who was more wounded than wrathful, and more troubled than terrifying. Even with Harry's newfound respect for his former professor, ever since the night he witnessed Snape's memories of his mother, he still hadn't come far enough to like the man.

"Yeah, right," Ron snorted. "I can really see Snape sitting down for a cup of tea and a chat in the dungeons. Do bats even drink tea?"

"Oh, don't be so rude," Ginny chided him. "He's a war hero. Give the bat some respect." She grinned and winked at Hermione, who had no idea why the comment deserved playful banter. Snape _did_ deserve their respect. She glanced at Harry, who was staring silently into the fire while he sipped at a newly-conjured Butterbeer. Though he certainly respected Snape, he made no attempt to stop Ron and Ginny from teasing the man. His respect had obviously not transferred to any kind of liking, and Hermione supposed there was a foundation for his hesitation to defend the older man. Nevertheless, his silence made her bristle a little, wanting them to understand that Snape wasn't all bad.

Or at least, she didn't think he was. His behaviour and harsh words did seem to contradict his dream-self somewhat.

"Honestly, Ron, you could at least be a little nicer," she admonished. "Even if you don't like him, there are some of us here who do."

"Who's that? The rug?" Ron grinned. "I guess they've got matching personalities."

Harry chuckled at that and Ginny cracked a smile, although her eyes were now fixed to Hermione's face, as though sensing a change in the atmosphere. Strangely enough, Hermione could feel the difference in herself. She could _feel _it. The sudden leap from bored, forced conversation to need to defend the man who repeatedly shot her hopes of recovery to hell. It had to be an after-effect of her erotic dream, or whatever it was. This is what happened last time she dreamt of him. For days after, she could feel a slight rise in her emotions, and even the air tugged at her skin like it wanted her attention. God, it felt good. And she had to milk it for all it was worth.

She decided to push it, and see how far this new desire to come to Snape's defence could take her. Would it drive her to real anger? Real sympathy?

"That would be _me_, Ronald," she said through partly narrowed eyes. "Didn't I just say that I want to get to know him? Why in Merlin's name would I want to do that if I didn't like him?"

"Yeah, but, Hermione," Harry interjected, just as a silvery patronous glided to a halt in front of them.

"Hey, losers," it said, in a voice Hermione recognised. "I'm awaiting your presence in the Great Hall. Don't make me wait here with all the screaming girls. The attention is unbearable."

Ginny sighed as the patronous disappeared. "George."

"Bloody George," Ron grumbled, pushing himself ungraciously from his chair. "Thinks he's such a bloody charmer."

"He is now that he's rich," Ginny said, pulling away from Harry and standing herself. "All the girls love him." She glanced at her boyfriend, who hadn't moved, and he looked back at her. A moment of silent communication seemed to pass between them, and then the red-head took a deep breath.

"Come on, Ron. Let's get the family reunion out of the way before we subject poor Harry and Hermione to George's … charm."

Only when Ron shared a similar look with Harry did Hermione finally crack on to the realisation that the Weasley's were leaving her alone with him. He must have something to say, or ask, and she dreaded what lie she'd have to come up with. Though seeing George would undoubtedly only bring more forced emotions and smiles, at least the wizard liked talking about himself enough not to bother with her too much. Harry, on the other hand, was an incredibly loyal and caring friend. She wished he weren't right now.

Ron and Ginny disappeared through the portrait, leaving Harry and Hermione in a silence only broken by the gentle crackling of the fire. It was minutes before either of them spoke, and to her astonishment, it was Hermione who broke the ice, almost anxious to get his questions out of the way.

"Alright, you've got me alone," she said, raising her hands in defeat. "Say what you need to. Don't think I haven't heard it already from Ginny, though."

Harry leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin, not nearly as serious as she'd been expecting. He scratched absently at his scar, still regarding her with a smile. It was this, more than anything else, that made her uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking, I might have a solution to your problems with Snape."

_What does he know about my problems with Snape?_ She thought desperately to herself. He couldn't possibly know about the dreams she had, or how even when she was awake most of her thoughts were directed to imagining what lay beneath Snape's dark robes… _Oh, God, Hermione, what's wrong with you?_

"Oh really?" She said instead, trying for a look of nonchalance. "What did you have in mind? Should I charm him? Tie him to a chair?"

_Oh, yes, that would be nice._

"Not anything that drastic," he said, still smiling. "It's just … have you thought about being outright with him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, walking straight up to him and telling him what you want. Snape doesn't seem like he'd enjoy small talk and team-building exercises." Harry shrugged at her and took a long drink from his Butterbeer. "Just tell him."

His words reminded her of her dream days before, when her professor had quietly demanded the truth from her. _Tell me_, he'd insisted. And in the dream, her honesty had been rewarded. Maybe it could work, her forthrightness. It certainly wasn't something the old Hermione would have done, considering what it was she wanted from him. But maybe, if she at least shocked him with her question, he'd actually listen to her.

"It's an idea," she agreed, pursing her lips to think. "But how well could that really go? 'Hey Professor, you seem sad. I want you to tell me about it. Let's be friends'."

Harry laughed, and for a moment she smiled a completely natural smile. God, she'd missed this feeling of camaraderie. But already she was mourning its loss, because it would certainly be gone in another day or two unless she convinced Snape to help her.

"Yeah, something like that."

They fell silent again, and Harry - either sensing that the conversation had run its course, or through a desire to grab a hold of Ginny once more - stood and stretched.

"Guess we'd better head down," he said, yawning.

"Guess we should."

* * *

><p>All through dinner, during which there was much pointing and whispering in Harry's direction, and George insisted on feeding everyone his latest creations, Hermione had more to think about than she'd had in a long time. Harry's idea was a good one, and one that might just win her the potion master's ear. But, there was, of course, the issue of how she'd ever be able to corner him long enough to ask. He'd demanded that she never go to the dungeons again, and she wasn't game to find out where his private quarters were. It seemed she would have to wait until term resumed after Christmas, when she could hang around after class and ask him then. But she couldn't wait that long, spending the holidays fighting the shadow that was increasingly taking over her days. It would have to be done sooner, then. Was he even in the castle over Christmas? She couldn't remember if he had attended all of the past Christmas feasts, since she hadn't been here for many of them, anyway.<p>

Hermione picked at her food, taking longer than her friends to finish the delicious meal. Ron made a comment about how she hadn't even mentioned house-elf slavery, and she was forced momentarily to abandon her thoughts of Snape so that she could prove that, even on some scale, she did care about rekindling her plans for S.P.E.W. But by the end of the evening, she'd thought her entire plan through, and was set on her task. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she glanced up at the teacher's table, only to find that Snape wasn't sitting in his customary seat. She didn't let it bother her, instead she shoved huge forkfuls of food into her mouth and she tried her best to join whatever conversation was happening around her.

Hermione had decided. Before the year was out, she would ask Severus Snape to sleep with her.

And she had the feeling that when she was done explaining, he wouldn't deny her.

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><p><em>AN: Shameless plug! I've also got a series of one-shot Snape and Hermione fics going. It's just a place for me to get out all my other Snermione ideas that don't fit in to this storyline. The one-shots are song-themed, as I usually draw my inspiration for dialogue/emotion from songs. For anyone who cares to know, the theme song for this entire fic is "I'm In Here" by Sia. She makes me proud to be Australian __J__ And, it's an incredibly beautiful song. Listening to it while writing this fic almost makes me cry. I believe there's a piano cover on YouTube that featured in Gossip Girl._

_For those who might be interested, the one-shot series comes under the title 'In A Song'._

_Also, I wrote this in an 'after-12am' frame of mind, so I apologise for any blatant spelling, grammatical or whatever else errors._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Hey guys! This chapter and the next were supposed to go up over Christmas, kind of as a Christmas treat, but my lovely Internet providers - being the stand-up company that they are - let the Internet service drop for four days in my area. Kudos to them, they are now number one on my 'People I Want To Drop-Kick Into A Gorge' list. _

_Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing and story-alerting and story-favourite-ing, it's so nice to see that you like my work! Though I do prefer reviews to alerts and favourites, if only for the more personalized feel. No pressure, it's just my opinion :D_

_Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, and I wish you an extraordinarily awesome new year!_

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><p>CHAPTER ELEVEN<p>

It was two days until Christmas before he allowed himself to think of her again.

Though of course it wasn't by his choice; if he'd had his way – which he was finding never happened – the girl would have been gone for the holidays, back to her parents' house where she would be far enough away that he could forget her. Or at the very least, stop dreaming about her. But on that bleak morning in the Headmistress' office, Snape heard some news that terrified him.

And he was furious that it had any effect at all.

"There is concern over Miss Granger's health," Minerva began, her hands clasped in front of her. She spoke to the small room of teachers, all of whom taught the young woman in question. "This morning she had another panic attack, far worse than any other. Geraldine tells me Granger was screaming bloody murder, and would not stop thrashing until she was… rendered unconscious."

At this, Snape closed his eyes unwillingly, overcome with a sudden urge to run and find the girl, if only to see for himself if it were true. And underneath this feeling of morbid curiosity was a deep, pulsing concern that laced his entire being in that moment before he realised what he was doing. He opened his eyes to Minerva, and cleared his mind as best he could. Granger was a student as any other. No matter what she was in his dreams, she wasn't someone to be bothered with during his days. He had to exercise more control.

Snape glanced up at the portrait of Dumbledore, even though the frame was empty of the former Headmaster. Portraits liked to move about, and for some reason, he was glad that Dumbledore wasn't here to witness this discussion. The man had spent much of his last years desperately trying to protect Potter and his friends. Even a shadow of the real Dumbledore would have something to say on this matter, and no doubt he would use his favourite pet, Snape, to do his wishes. The constant errands and missions weren't something the potions master missed. To be constantly wrapped up in the troubles and follies of others… it had been exhausting work. But then, at least he had had little time to think of his own troubles, when he'd been busy. The irony was almost tangible.

"Poppy believes that Granger may not be able to stay at Hogwarts much longer," the Headmistress went on sombrely. "It may be time to move her to St Mungo's, where she can be more carefully watched and receive the care she needs."

Unbidden, his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. _No, not that place. She would never survive_.

Snape clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. _Stop thinking about her. She is no concern of yours. She is a meddlesome, boring, idiotic girl with far too much hair_. _Stop thinking about her._

"Oh," Professor Sinistra sighed, her brows furrowed sadly. "Minerva, has it really come to that? Is there nothing we can do for her?"

At this, Pomfrey spoke up, her voice almost unrecognisable to Snape since it wasn't asking for a favour. "The Dreamless Potion helps her to rest, but there is nothing we can do for her whilst she is awake. We've all seen her walking the halls. It's as though she has been kissed by a dementor. She is not the Hermione Granger we remember. Not by a long shot."

Kissed by a dementor. Surely the girl wasn't that far gone. Whenever she spoke to him she revealed there was still much soul in her, and plenty of fight. There was also an impressive display of how obnoxious and self-righteous she could be, and how very highly she thought of herself. No, Minerva had to be wrong. The girl had issues, of course, he had seen as much… but to be admitted to St Mungo's?

To his surprise, he heard no protests from any of his co-workers. To the contrary, they all seemed to be sadly resigned into agreeing with Pomfrey. Snape looked at them all with a blank expression, wishing that he could use his Occlumency on them to see their memories of the girl, to see what they saw. Why had he not seen it? Surely if there were that large a difference between the Granger they remembered and the girl they taught now, he would have noticed. Distant teacher he may be, but he wasn't stupid. And he was always observant.

"Potions and spells will only go so far, Aurora," Minerva said. "I fear that Granger requires a more potent magic to forget what she has seen. This morning she was begging Bellatrix for her life. It has been almost two years since the night she was tortured. The memory should not affect her to this degree. Not if she were healing well."

A light shudder ran through him at the Headmistress' words. He knew all too well how that particular memory haunted the girl. Even then, weeks ago when he had yet to begin dreaming of her naked skin, the sight of his student quivering and gasping in front of him, caught up in a horrifying memory… It had affected him more than he thought. He would never wish suffering of that kind on anyone, not even his worst enemy. Snape knew all too well the power of the mind, and how it could be used against oneself.

_God damn it_, he thought furiously. _It's not right_. _I want nothing to do with her. She ruined my chance at escape. I should hate her. I _do_ hate her. I hate her so much that I can't stop thinking about her._

He was so caught in his thoughts, in the vicious tug-of-war raging between his head and heart, that he almost missed Minerva's question.

"What do you think, Severus?"

He looked up at her innocently. "Me, Headmistress?"

"Yes, you." The witch regarded him with a hard stare, but he didn't even blink. He was used to her intimidation techniques. "You have taught Granger since she was eleven. You were a part of the Order of the Phoenix with her. And she saved your life. I think you, of all the staff, should have something to say about her future."

Inside, he bristled at the reminder that he owed the girl anything. Load. Of. Bullshit. All he owed her was a lifetime of misery, which was exactly what she had given him. Psychologically damaged or not, he would never forgive her for that.

"I am not her father," he drawled, gazing back at Minerva steadily. "I have nothing at all to say about the girl."

"Her parents are in Australia, with no memory of what or whom she is. Though Granger is an adult by our standards, she is barely of age in the Muggle world. She needs someone to make this decision for her. I am only asking that you take an interest in whether or not the girl spends her next few years in hospice."

So there it was, he thought ruefully. The woman only wanted to see if he cared for the girl, since he refused to give her special treatment as they all did. His mind screamed that no, he didn't give a shit about Granger or the state of her mental health; but some other strange, supressed part of his being answered for him.

"I believe she should be given the opportunity to improve," he found himself saying, quite against his will. "There are still many treatments we have not tried. I would not resign the girl to white robes and visiting hours just yet."

Minerva gave him a small smile, barely more than a quirked lip, but it was enough to have him furious. What was wrong with him? Requesting the girl stay? And he had as good as offered his services to her. Treatments to be tried… what game was his heart playing with him?

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur for Snape, who was absorbed in his thoughts so completely that he only nodded when Minerva asked him to brew a Potion of Forgetting for the girl, which would be taken in conjunction with a charm performed by Flitwick. When he came to his senses once more, he found that he was very suddenly standing in his private workrooms, staring into the dark abyss of an empty cauldron. There were so many things he could do with just this cauldron and a few ingredients. He could force the truth from someone. Turn into another person completely. Charm someone into loving him.

But could he really help the girl?

A Forgetting Potion would be worse than useless, he knew. The kind of memories she suffered, they would never go away easily. Had it been possible for him to erase what he'd seen, he would have drunk the potion three times a day for the last twenty years. But they were more than memories. They left feelings – of hope, of desolation and despair. It wouldn't do for the girl to feel as empty as the cauldron and not know why she felt that way. No. She needed to make peace with her memories. She had to let them go on her own.

God, but he didn't want to help her. Yes, he wanted her to be free of her tormenting nightmares, but he didn't want to be the one to do it. He wanted to be the one living a life where he didn't know her name, and didn't know the exact colour of her eyes. He wanted a world where he didn't dream of her hands on his skin. Freeing her would only serve to cement the idea that he owed her anything. And it would undoubtedly make her believe that the two of them were friends, as she'd been trying so hard to achieve since she arrived at the school months before.

It seemed that it was up to him to decide whether helping her would be beneficial or not. Though, he rationalized, there really was no choice at all. He'd already told Minerva that he would help.

_Damn it_, he cursed silently, flexing his pale hands by his sides. _What have I done?_

* * *

><p>Later that day, the walk to the hospital wing felt more and more like wading through pea soup. Every step he took, Forgetting Potion in hand, became heavier and longer than the last, delaying his arrival at the girls bedside. It wasn't entirely clear to him why he wanted so badly to avoid her, despite the obvious: he hated her existence, everything she had done to him and the way she inevitably found her way into his head every night. Not to mention the near-regular intrusions into his dungeons, at which point she always seemed to have some reason to berate him. It was growing tiresome, but it wasn't enough to warrant this amount of nervousness, of apprehension that was growing in his chest with each second that passed. Snape prided himself on his ability to reign in his emotions at a moments notice, but tonight he was disappointing himself with how difficult it was. What was it about the girl that had him so worked up?<p>

The second he walked into the long room, with all those dozens of empty beds greeting him, he felt that he knew exactly what it was about her. Her head spun in his direction as soon as he came into sight, and her eyes found his without delay. It was a little worrying that she was so comfortable looking into his eyes. Most of his students avoided meeting his gaze like he may give them the plague, but she never did. And never had, if he had to think about it. The girl was either stupid or brave. Either way, a Gryffindor through and through. Steeling himself, and already furious just through being in her presence, he moved to stand stiffly beside her bed.

"Hello, Professor," she said, never taking her eyes from him.

He wouldn't look at her. Or rather, he couldn't look at her. He didn't know what he would find in her eyes if he chose to look. And God, did it bother him that he should be worried at all. Something had come over him since the staff meeting, a sense of closeness to the girl that he didn't need or want - at all. But he felt that he should be gentle with her, possibly even kind. Maybe it was a sort of sympathy for her situation, or some kind of latent desire to see his students succeed. This new feeling of concern certainly had nothing to do with the fact that she had saved his life, or the fact that apparently her nightmares consisted of his recurring death. He cared very little if she thought of him, or why she had done what she did.

Didn't he?

"I said 'hello'," Granger said impatiently. "It's usually polite to say 'hello' back."

"I am not in the habit of taking lectures in manners from mentally unstable students," he sneered, the words tumbling out before he even had a chance to think. Something about her voice just incensed him, more than anything else ever had. He had the sudden urge to hit something, to throw the potion to the ground, create a little discord in the painfully neat and clean wing. Destruction would soothe him, but he had to control himself.

His entire existence was about control these days.

"Is that for me?" She asked, pointing at the vial between his fingers. Snape didn't miss how her hand shook when she lifted it, or how pale her skin was. Not even a British winter could make anyone that white.

"Again, Miss Granger, your skills of deduction have amazed me to no end." He held the potion out to her, still determinedly looking anywhere but her face. Something inside him warned that his whole world would be undone if he looked into her eyes. Evil of a new kind lurked behind her golden brown gaze, he was sure of it. "It is to be taken with food, and you are not to lay down for an hour after taking it."

Granger took the glass from him and studied it for a moment, looking at the green liquid with an academic curiosity. Out the corner of his eye, Snape noticed her interest and wondered, _How can Minerva not see that she is the same knowledge-seeking brat she has always been?_

"Professor Flitwick will be here soon," she said. "Will you stay?"

"Why would I do that?"

She shrugged, drawing her knees up to her chest and holding them in her arms. "I don't know. Professional interest? To make sure your potion works?"

"Of course it will work," he said dangerously, his pride ever so slightly ruffled. No one had doubted his ability for a while. And for her to suggest, even jokingly, that he might have failed was unbelievable.

"Then stay because I asked you to."

"I'm not your nanny, Granger. Good evening."

He turned abruptly on his heels and went to walk away, feeling again that he was walking through toffee-like air, when she spoke up in a deadly quiet voice that stopped him in his tracks.

His whole body went rigid. His eyes very nearly popped out of his head. His heartbeat was thudding so loudly in his ears he wouldn't have been surprised if the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest could hear it. Surely he heard wrong. She can't have said what he thought she'd said. It was impossible.

It was _impossible_.

Slowly, he turned back to face her, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't look her in the eye, but that's exactly what he did. The haunted face of a once-lively girl looked back at him, with shadowed eyes and skin so white she could have been a ghost. The sudden urge to hold her nearly undid him as he suspected it would, and only the shock of her words held him back. God, she looked so helpless. And so very, very sick.

_Merlin's beard, Pomfrey was right. She does look like she's been Kissed._

Words failed him as he stared back at her, and he didn't even bother to hide his emotions. Let her see his surprise, his all-comsuming despair over her soulless eyes. Because that's what he'd been avoiding. He'd known, the very instant that he approached her, that she wouldn't be the same fierce some girl who he'd snarled at a week ago in the dungeons. Something had changed in her, just as it had changed in him. His resolve to be cruel to her was waning. Her life was slipping from her like sand through an hour glass. Hermione Granger's time as a sane woman was fading.

"Answer me," she said softly. Her soft voice, so agonisingly hollow, made him want to scream. Where was her fire? Where was the girl he dreamed of, who was so full of passion that she could barely keep her hands off him? The girl who writhed and moaned under him like her very limbs were made of flames?

"I'm not sure I understand you," he replied steadily.

"Exactly what I said, that's what I meant. It's perfectly simple." She tilted her head to one side, regarding him thoughtfully. His breath caught in his throat even before the words made it past her lips for the second time.

"Sleep with me."

The room was too hot, the air was too thick. Snape felt himself begin to sweat in the most unusual of places - his knees, his wrists, the nape of his neck. Breathing became a chore, the movement of taking air into his lungs felt unnatural.

_Impossible_.

"Before you throw whatever insults you've got planned at me, I'd like you to hear me out," she said, keeping him locked within her gaze.

_Is that what I should be doing_? He wondered belatedly. But he remained silent, desperately trying to get his heart to slow down, and his body to cool. He slipped his wand down from his sleeve, holding it tightly between his fingers. The spell was there on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get it out. He couldn't freeze her in place, couldn't silence her or knock her out. Something inside him was demanding that he hear her out, and that he really listen.

But he couldn't possibly consider it. It was wrong, and irresponsible. It was stupid and disturbing.

And so, so tempting. Oh God, she was so tempting, even in this state.

"I've said it before, and I meant it," she began somewhat hesitantly. "Sexual release helps me. I don't have nightmares or panic attacks if I've recently… you know. _Released_ it all. But what I didn't tell you last week in the dungeons, is that it's you I think about when it happens."

_Fuck_.

"I even dream about you sometimes, but not in a bad way that gives me nightmares. I dream … that you touch me, and in the morning … I feel alive again. That day you found me in the library, I guess I was trying to recreate a dream I'd had about you the night before. It wasn't the same, but I think it helped a little."

At this, he stiffened, brought crashing back to reality so fast it hurt. The dreams he had of her felt so real, he used to wonder if some how she'd made her way in to her his head. He'd passed it off as an impossibility. But here she was, admitting to dreaming the same things he did. Even on the same _night_. Coincidence only went so far, but the alternative was horrifying.

"I know it's a long shot, but something tells me this is what I need. And it has to be with you. Don't ask me why, because I'd prefer not to over-analyze it. This is the first feeling I've had in a week, and it's barely more than a hunch."

She must have seen that he was beginning to come to his senses, because her eyes suddenly took on a pleading look. The sight of her begging for his acceptance was overall so pathetic it made him want to sneer at her just for the satisfaction of hurting her. But he didn't really want that. It was just a defence, a way of avoiding any real emotion on his part. He couldn't hurt her, not while she was like this. Snape was many thing, but intentional cruelty had never been his specialty.

"I want you to sleep with me, professor," she said softly. "Because I know it will help me to heal. And because I think you want to sleep with me, too. I see it in your eyes." Granger hesitated then added in a whisper, "You dream of me, as well."

A hot shot of terror ran through him, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"How do you know I dream-"

"Ah, Severus, you're here!" A voice squeaked from the doorway. Professor Flitwick came over to the bed with quick steps, followed by the Headmistress and Pomfrey. Snape barely turned to acknowledge them, as his eyes couldn't manage to leave his student's face. Hermione stared back at him without blinking.

"Are you staying, Severus?" Minerva asked, obviously surprised.

"Not at all," he replied coolly, regaining the blank expression he had perfected over so many years of working as a double agent. "I was just leaving. Good evening to you all."

And as he finally left the hospital wing, heart racing and limbs on fire, he could feel the girls eyes boring in to his back. He didn't turn to look at her again, afraid of what he might do if he saw the expression in her eyes. Was she disappointed? Did she feel anything at all?

He made it back to his private rooms in record time, and promptly began pacing the floor of his small living room. There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head, and he cast them all aside to focus on the only one he knew he couldn't ignore: had she meant it, and what was his answer?

The question of how she knew he dreamed of her could wait - it would have a logical explanation.

The issue of whether or not it would even be allowed didn't bother him at all.

All he could think of was the fact that she wanted him. She _wanted_ him. For whatever reason, and to whatever end, she wanted to sleep with him. She wanted to offer her body to him, to use as he pleased.

God, it was too much. And he was in no position to handle it.

The girl wanted him.

She had offered herself to him.

It was his dreams, come to life.

But could he really do it? Go through with this and have his way with her?

The answer came to him so swiftly it was astounding, and he realised with sudden alacrity that he had made the decision months ago, the very first time he had touched her in his dreams, fully aware that he was in control of what he did in those dream. To even think of refusing her made his stomach clench painfully, as though the thought of letting this opportunity slip through his fingers was actually sickening. Though, really, the thought of taking advantage of a sick teenage girl should be the truly sickening thought. And yet, it didn't bother him at all.

_What was wrong with him_?

It took him nearly an hour to calm himself enough to sit down at his desk, and then it took him another few, long minutes to drag a piece of parchment to his hand. The words were neatly scrawled under him before he fully registered what he had written. But then it was done, and though there was plenty of time to back out, he knew he never would. He couldn't. She was right, he wanted her. God, did he want her.

And so it was that he returned to the hospital wing that night, while the castle slept and only the ghosts could be seen roaming the halls. He didn't wake her from her sleep, but he took a minute to watch her laying there peacefully, and he hoped that for her sake she wasn't locked in some horrible nightmare that she couldn't escape. But then, maybe she was dreaming of him.

The thought made him smile, ever so slightly, and he dropped the rolled-up parchment into her hand, laying open at her side. It was risky, but hopefully she would find it before Pomfrey did. Even if the matron did see the note, he doubted she could ever make sense of it.

He had written only three words.

**_I have conditions_**.

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><p><em>AN: Wow. That was hard to w__rite. I really wasn't in a writing mood when I wrote this, but I had to push it out. Hopefully it wasn't too painful to read. Make sure you review if you liked it! Or even if you didn't! I do so love reviews : )_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Holy smokes I am the worst FanFictioner ever. I am SOOOOO sorry I haven't updated! Study, work, life and a terrible case of writers block got in the way. I literally haven't written a single thing for _**months**_, not on this or any of my other projects! Let's all agree I'm a bad person and move on with this chapter, shall we?_

_I hope you all enjoy it! It took me a while to write! Haha!_

_Oh… I'm an awful person._

_I'm so sorry again! And thank you all so much for sticking with me!_

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><p>The week before class resumed found Hermione walking briskly across the grounds, her coat tugged tight around her body against the chill of winter. She bowed her head against the breeze, thankful that it wasn't snowing. Today, at least. It had snowed for days before this, and the grass beneath her feet was soggy and soft.<p>

Beside her the Forbidden Forest loomed tall and dark, promising danger to anyone who entered. It was in to the forest she had to go, to find the one person she'd been dying – almost literally – to see since Christmas. Of course he didn't want her in his dungeons, and there were precious few other places in the school grounds that two people could meet secretly.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, a strange sensation that made it both painful and pleasurable to breath. It was a reminder that she was still alive, despite all the emptiness inside her. And it was because of him that she felt it at all. Snape.

Hermione crossed the threshold into the forest and immediately found her shoes covered in muck. She grumbled under her breath and watched a white cloud erupt from her mouth. On she walked, further and further between the trees, ignoring the strange noises she heard now and then. The forest had scared her once, but now it seemed less like a place of death and more like a fine example of how much disparity there was in nature. She wondered absently if her logical approach was a product of the return of her academic nature, or more evidence that she simply didn't feel.

At last she found him, exactly where he would be. It was strange that he asked to meet her at the one place she knew in the forest – the clearing where Grawp had lived. Did he know about her involvement in that, or was it pure coincidence? Hermione often thought that Snape knew a far lot more than he let on.

He was standing between the roots of a particularly menacing oak, looking for all the world as though she were walking into his classroom. With his hands behind his back and a familiar sneer of contempt, she wondered if she ought to find a place to sit while he lectured her. The thought made her grin.

Amazing. Just by being near him, she could feel silly and happy. This would work, she knew it would. And maybe, just maybe, in the process of healing herself she could heal him of his own darkness. The one that put the stick up his ass.

Again she grinned, this time wider and somewhat deliriously. She lifted a gloved hand to cover her lips.

"Is something amusing you, Miss Granger?"

God, his voice was beautiful.

"Yes," she said. There was no point in lying.

He watched her approach, his black eyes annoyingly blank. She hated it when he wore his impassive mask. "There aren't many who find humour in the Forest."

"Well, there aren't many like me." She came to a stop a few feet from where he stood, and looked up at him earnestly. "You wanted to talk."

"Yes, I did."

Snape was not a man to display any kind of anxiety, and so the second he dropped his eyes from hers and began pacing, she knew something was bothering him. Something in her mind told her she wouldn't like what he had to say, and it quickly put an end to her good mood.

"Out with it," she demanded. Her arms crossed over her chest, as much for warmth as to show him she was wary of his next words.

He snapped his gaze back to her. "Very well. Concerning the agreement-"

It happened very quickly, the flashback. It wasn't one of terror or grief, but one of absolute need to do something. The forest flashed through her mind, the smell of blood lingered. Ron, on the ground, splinched and in pain. Harry, rummaging in her bag for the Essence of Murtlap. Snatchers… nearby... listening…

"Wait," she said, ignoring his glare as she interrupted. Her eyes darted around the clearing. "Are we safe to talk here? Is the area warded?"

"Do you think I'm a fool?" He snarled.

"Of course not, I just-" She had to cut herself off, not knowing what she wanted to say. Suddenly the odd beauty of the forest she'd been admiring only minutes before disappeared completely. Everywhere she looked seemed dark and dangerous, and the chill that crept up her spine had nothing to do with the weather. The forest was watching, regardless of whatever magic he had put in place. What secrets could it tell, if someone asked?

"Never mind." Hermione turned back to him, blinking her confusion away. Snape looked back at her with suspicious eyes, but she waved a hand at him impatiently.

"Go on. Tell me your conditions."

He curled a lip disdainfully. "I have no conditions. Our agreement is ended. I will have no part in it."

Was there snow in her ears? Or did he really just back out?

_You selfish, arrogant -_

"Excuse me?" Her words came out in a high-pitched rush as she stared at him, open-mouthed.

"I will have no part in it." He said it slowly, drawing out her torture into syllables like she was a dim-witted first-year. As if she had ever been dim-witted.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I am quite serious."

"You do realise that they'll send me to St. Mungo's?"

"I am aware."

"And what, you don't care?"

"I never did."

It all happened so quickly, this exchange, that it almost didn't register. What he said. Of course, he'd been saying it all along. She knew that, but she hadn't wanted to believe it. That he could admit to his indifference without so much as hesitating… it made her wonder if maybe he'd been telling the truth. Maybe he really didn't care.

Bullshit he didn't. He wouldn't dream about her if he didn't. He wouldn't treat her like a pariah if he didn't. He wouldn't have taken the courtesy to refuse her now, _to her face_, if he didn't care about her in _some_ way.

Snape was an accomplished liar. Everyone knew that, and she knew things about her professor that none of her classmates did. He was lying to her now, she was sure of it. It hurt, for some reason. She'd always assumed he would be truthful with her, even if she didn't want to hear it. But this blatant lie cut deeply than she would have ever guessed a teacher's lie could.

And it made her angry.

Pursing her lips together, Hermione clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head, breathing the forest air in deep gulps. Merlin, how she wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to throw something and break his perfectly hooked nose.

_He can't do this to me. Not now, when I'm so close to being happy. That stupid, smarmy son of a-_

She dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at him, angrier than she had ever felt in her entire life. He was giving up on her. The one person she thought would understand. The man she'd saved was walking out on her, refusing to act to save her.

Her voice shook as she spoke, sending uneven clouds of warm breath into the air. "Then why you did accept in the first place?"

"I had a moment of pity," Snape said, so casually as though he were discussing the weather. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes away from hers. "It passed quickly, and now I must rectify the mistake."

The act was almost perfect, but he forgot one crucial detail: she knew better.

"Liar." It came out in a snarl. The Sorting Hat told her she was a lion. There was no better time to get her claws out then now, fighting for her life.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Careful with your words, Miss Granger. I do not take insults from children."

"It wasn't pity. You just don't care to admit that you want me."

"What is there to want?" He leered.

That didn't hurt like he thought it would. Once, she might have feared that she wasn't beautiful, or that she wasn't desirable. But she was older now, and fretting over which boy would ask her to the Yule Ball seemed was a memory she was sure belonged to someone else. Besides, she had seen his dreams. And he dreamed of her.

Fine. If he wanted to play games with her, she knew just what to hit him with.

"Did I not hear you right?" Her tone was sweet, her eyes were hard. She didn't let him look away as she slowly inched toward him.

Snape watched her approach with wary eyes. "What are you doing?"

"That night, in the hall with the chairs laying everywhere and the big windows. Did I not hear you right?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she had the pleasure of watching Severus Snape go pale. An impressive feat, for a man who rarely saw the sun. His eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips parted in surprise.

Good. She was getting to him.

"Let me think, it was something about… wanting to rip the clothes from my body and take it for your own?"

Only feet from him now, she let a smug smile grace her features. He was paralysed, and she didn't even need a wand to do it.

"Or that night in the garden, when you saw my naked body and told me I was perfect?" She came to a stop directly in front of him, their bodies only inches apart. His eyes were dark tunnels, bottomless and eternal. And they were trained exclusively on her face, all his effort at nonchalance completely gone. She had him.

She made a show of looking up at him from under her lashes, unused to flirting and being seductive, but somehow knowing exactly what would undo him. There was no room for error here.

"You would have me believe that you don't want me, Professor, and yet in your dreams you can barely keep your hands to yourself."

His Adam's apple bobbed in front of her eyes as he swallowed. Was this a fantasy of his that she was unknowingly playing out? Had this been the key to winning him all along? Not pleas and friendship, but seduction and temptation? It was a foreign idea to her, but she would do it. She had to do it.

Raising herself to the balls of her feet, she closed the distance between them and tilted her chin up. Not even a breath lay between her lips and his, and still he didn't move. She wondered if he could.

"I don't mind, sir. I don't mind if you dream about fucking me. I really quite like it."

The opportunity wouldn't come around again, and before she realised what she was doing her mouth was on his, warm and soft amidst the backdrop of the cold, hard forest.

But then it struck her like the Hogwarts Express. She was kissing him. Her professor. Snape. Not in a dream, but in the Forbidden Forest, where Grawp had lived. The whole reality of it was mind-boggling, but she couldn't think of it for long. Because she had underestimated the power of a kiss like this.

Hot fire ran through her veins, beating from a heart made of stone. Gone were her fears of never feeling again, this was the answer. This… this…

It was pure fucking bliss.

The cold didn't bother her. The forest didn't scare her. All there was in the world was her and this man, who was just as confusing and stubborn as he was beautiful and brave. A man who had yet to move away from her lips.

Hermione wound her arms around his neck, as she had dreamed of doing for months. Now, with her body against his, she could fully appreciate the strength he hid from his students. A shiver ran the length of her body. Her heartbeat sang like a war drum in her ears. _Feelings_ of all shapes and sizes pummelled her conscious like an angry mob, desperate to be heard.

_Fuck. Whoever knew this could come from a kiss?_

And she felt it the moment he gave in. The resignation swept out of his body and into the night.

And she felt it when he raised a hand to her hair. It was a hesitant gesture that showed her he wanted this, and still didn't want it.

And she felt it when he first moved his lips against hers. Sweeter than heaven. Hotter than hell.

It was too much to bear.

Hermione pulled herself away from him to gasp in the chilly air, her mind spinning in wild circles that started and ended with Severus Snape. No sooner had she moved away than the hand in her hair tugged her back, and she felt his fevered whisper against her mouth.

"No."

And so began another kiss, this one harder and more demanding. Snape wrapped his free arm around her waist and crushed her to him like a python.

_He really is a Slytherin._

The thunder in her heart only grew the longer they were connected, until it felt like it would consume her, body and soul. She was more than willing to let it. All her worries, all her fears and her months of suffering, they were all dwarfed in comparison to this one feeling he was giving her. It was something she couldn't name for fear of knowing what it really was.

Yes, this was the release she needed. Everything swept away in one touch.

It surprised her when she made the first move to deepen the kiss. It wasn't like her to be so forward, but then she had said and done things with this man that she had thought she'd never do with anyone. He made her strong, and he made her bold, even if she didn't quite understand why.

She flicked her tongue across his mouth, hoping to entice him into parting his lips further. There was no way to know how he would react.

In less than a second she found herself dreadfully cold and empty, feeling for all the world like her very soul had been ripped from her. Hermione's eyes opened in shock to find her professor feet away from her, breathing heavily with a hand across his brow. Obviously, she had gone too far. Maybe he wasn't up to tongues just yet, even though they had progressed far beyond this in their dreams. Maybe, like her, he hadn't counted on the raw power of a _real_ touch. Or maybe he'd regained control over himself, and would now hex her to oblivion.

She didn't care. She was already there.

But he didn't do anything of the kind. There were no insults, no curses, no harsh words of reprimand. Instead, he looked up at her with a strange mix of surprise and what she could only call desire. Or possibly, a better word would be_ heat_. Just pure, unbridled, all-consuming heat. He was overcome with it.

Knowing that she had won, even this small victory, made her grin like a temptress. He rewarded her with a moan of defeat. Yes, she had him.

"So," she said, pressing two fingers to her mouth. The skin of her lips was tender to the touch, and hot.

"What were your conditions?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yaaayyyy! I'm so glad it's done! Now let's hope I don't take another 4 months to write the next chapter…Uggh, I'm a bad person! _


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